


Ace's High

by DejectedThoughts



Series: Pagan Outlaws MC [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Bad Boys, Bikers, Crimes & Criminals, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gangs, Guns, Marriage of Convenience, May/December Relationship, Objectification, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Prostitution, Sexism, Sexual Coercion, Slow Build, Tags May Change, Violence, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22720123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DejectedThoughts/pseuds/DejectedThoughts
Summary: After ten long years in prison, Eddie "Ace" Buchannon is finally getting out. But things just aren't the same as they were when he left, and adjusting to life on the outside is hard. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and Ace is no young pup.Autumn Bixby is running from an abusive relationship when they meet, and with nowhere else to turn, she is quickly swept into the life of the Pagans.It's not a romance, but yes they get involved.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Pagan Outlaws MC [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633072
Comments: 31
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as Good Girl, but in a different town, featuring a different chapter of the club. So while some minor things might be referenced, it won't spoil the events of the first story in this series and can be read as a stand-alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ace's Faceclaim (Michael Shannon)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/afea3e075118d19f5c38887cfdf301c3/5cea51f6903370af-e8/s2048x3072/9cca4b19a9f8fa859753489dbecf18f77ed125fe.jpg)
> 
> [Singer's Faceclaim (Joaquin Phoenix)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f6f7a5b26ae0bffd5b7b4d8e5e060105/a941ccbd490371ba-1c/s1280x1920/a264cb4c9a487fba6a74692afa43aa2366cd54d1.jpg)

He'd been indicted on a class C felony charge and was sentanced to ten years minimum for small arms dealing.

But now he was getting out, and come eleven o' clock that morning, he'd be a free man.

But he knew things weren't going to be the same as they were ten years ago.

Times had changed, and so had Ace.

But he scratched his nose and wore a blank expression as if bored, like he was just waiting for a bus as the correctional officer behind the glass window bent to procure the box of items that had been in Ace's possession when he was locked up. He'd had nothing but the shirt on his back, a pair of faded jeans, a leather belt, chain wallet and boots. But what he'd worn over the shirt had been a denim vest with the moniker "Ace" stitched into the back in quotation marks, just below it the symbol of the Pagan Outlaws motorcycle club, and at the bottom a black and white patch that said Enforcer, which had been his rank as a member. 

He accepted the items with no more enthusiasm than he would accepting a registered letter from a postal worker. He wasn't looking forward to his family reunion. Things were different now. The club had changed hands while he was absent, there was a new top dog in the pack, most of the members he'd known over the years were now imprisoned or dead, and only a handful of them he might recognize among what was surely to be a sea of young bloods in their place. Times had certainly changed while he was away. But on the inside of a prison cell, Ace had done some changing too, and dreaded his return to the club. 

But he dressed accordingly, and when the paper work had been processed, he stepped outside and into the sunlight, squinting, and eventually spotted a beat up Pontiac Sunfire in the parking lot, out of it stepping a fellow member, putting out his cigarette on the pavement as he shut the door. He was younger than Ace by a margin of years, but looked much older now, as if the years passing had taken their toll. Though he looked happier than Ace ever remembered the man being, pulling his sunglasses off with a smile and welcoming Ace to the outside world with a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder. 

"Singer," Ace addressed him, nodding.

"Welcome back, brother," Singer grinned at him, then ushered him into the passenger's seat of the car. The very first thing he did, before he even started the car back up, was reach into the back seat for a carton of Marlboros and tossed it in Ace's lap, then picked up a Zippo lighter from the center console and handed that to him next. "Merry Christmas," he quipped and Ace snorted. 

He tore the side of the box open, pulled a pack of smokes out, then set the rest of the carton back on the seat behind him. He smacked the pack against his palm a few times before peeling away the cellophane. 

"Who's car is this?" he asked before lighting cigarette.

"My ol' lady's," Singer shrugged.

"Ya got married?"

"Yep. Been together two years now."

"Ya never mentioned her."

"I didn't? Shit. My bad. I thought I had."

"Ya gonna introduce me?"

"I might, but let's get ya to the clubhouse first," Singer chuckled. "You and I have a lot of catchin' up to do." He stuck the key in the ignition switch, then started it, but turned to Ace and said, "Gotta warn ya though, things are...well, they're different now." 

Ace nodded. "So I've heard."

"Times have changed, brother."

Ace took a long drag off his cigarette, then said, "Yeah I imagine they have."

Singer stared for a minute, like he expected there to be more, but when he saw that Ace had nothing further to say, he nodded briefly, then shifted in reverse to back out of the parking spot. It was a long four hour drive of listening to the radio, and Singer humming along with the songs, occasionally singing, with the occasional smalltalk. Ace asked him if he still had his Gibson electric, to which he said 'yeah', and told him he still played all the time too. 

That was how he got his name. He liked to sing. Had first showed up out of the blue one night at the Black Powder bar and grill where their chapter liked to frequent, broke and out of gas, with nothing but that electric guitar strapped to his back and a stammer in his words, asking the people inside if they were looking for some entertainment. The President waved him over, sat him down in a chair, pulled the revolver from his vest, cocked the hammer back, aimed it at the kid's face with a smile and said, "You go on and play me a song, boy, and if I like it, you can walk out of this bar still breathin'." 

He'd played his heart out that night, sang Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive for the Prez and his friends, and while it didn't sound quite the same as the original, it impressed the members present, the Prez liked it well enough to let him live, and started calling him Singer after that. Even after he'd joined the Pagans and became more than just their nightly entertainment, the nickname stuck with him. 

Out of all of them, Ace and Singer had been the closest, more like blood kin than simply brothers in the club, and Ace had even taken him under his wing as a Prospect. It was no surprise at all that it should be Singer of all people picking him up the day he got out, rather than the new Prez or any others of the Cabinet. Singer drove them down the interstate but instead of taking the exit that would lead directly to the bar, he passed it and took the next one, making Ace glance over at him, narrowing his eyes. 

"Where we headed?" he asked, to which Singer told him they had to make a pit stop first, and drove him to a self storage unit facility nearby.

When he parked the car and they both got out, he handed Ace a key to one of the storage units, saying, "I kept her for ya," and Ace was eternally grateful for what that implied. He hadn't let Ace's motorcycle get impounded or auctioned, and instead put it in a storage unit for him to ride once he got out. He unlocked the pad lock, tore it off, then slid the panel up to see a dusty black and white Victory Vegas in the shadow of the storage unit. He hadn't had a bike cover for it, but she still looked in relatively mint condition.

It was the only woman Ace had ever loved, that motorcycle, and since Singer was inclined to keep her maintained the last ten years, she was just as beautiful now as the day she came off the showroom floor. Just maybe needed a good wash, and a little turlewax to boost the shine on the side of that tank. But the storage units were above the flood zone so there was no water damage, and Singer was certain to take the bike to a garage for new oil and put a full tank of gas in it too.

In the left saddle bag was a Beretta with a full clip, tucked in a black leather holster, that Ace immediately reached for, removing his vest to slide it over his shoulders, tucking the pistol under his arm and throwing the vest back on to conceal it. The weight of the gun felt strange, too heavily laden, where it used to feel like a part of him he wasn't complete without, and for a moment he paused, standing and staring at the back wall. He slowly closed the bag, ignoring the manilla envelope full of unmarked bills he'd stored there for safekeeping, and took a deep breath through his nose.

Things had certainly changed for the Ace of Spades.

But he adjusted his cut before turning to see Singer smiling at him, eyes full of pride, because now Ace had truly returned, after ten long years of absence.

"Alright now I can take your ass to the bar," Singer chuckled, and Ace almost smiled.

After ten long years, a cold beer in his hand and a woman on his arm sounded pretty damn good right then, but...

Ace exhaled a slow breath through his nose and flexed his jaw, thinking.

But...things had changed.

"Wontchya follow me out to Disciple Hill," he requested, making Singer cock his head in confusion. "Gotta talk to ya about somethin'," was the only explanation he gave. But Singer nodded, puffing on his cigarette.

"Alright then," he drawled slowly.

They shook hands, then Singer got back behind the wheel of his old lady's car while Ace started up his bike and let it idle for a minute, pulling a rag from the opposite hand side to wipe away some of the dust that had settled. Disciple Hill was a secret meeting place of the Pagans, where brothers would meet for private conversation outside of club meetings, to discuss anything that couldn't be said over the phone, in case it was tapped, or around other members, if someone was thought to be wearing a wire.

But it earned it's name because it's original purpose had been to initiate new members into the club back when the former President's father, the founder of the chapter, was still alive and acting President. The Prospect would meet with the President and the rest of the Cabinet, who would bring a kidnap victim, bound and gagged with their face covered, to the top of the hill where the Prospect was then expected to shoot the victim, or take their place. Who they were or what they had done didn't matter. All that mattered was if the Prospect was willing to take a life without question at the Prez's orders.

Because every man must be willing to take a life, or give theirs instead.

Blood was shed on that hill, thus it was considered one of the most sacred of places to the Pagan way of life.

And it was there that Ace rode his bike, sun in his eyes, wind in his face, intent on this being his last ride.

But even though the pistol tucked under his arm felt unfamiliar to him now, the ride he took felt like the old proverb, "Once you learn, you never forget." He took the turns just as easily as if he'd taken them yesterday, just as smooth as could be. The sun was just beginnning to sink over the hills when he finally arrived to the meeting place, down a gravel road that ended at the base of the hill, overlooking a pristine valley floor. When Singer pulled in behind him and hopped out of the car, they walked the hundred feet to the top of the hill, stood and looked out at the valley, watching the sunset for a minute in silence. 

"Why'd ya bring me out here?" Singer asked, but there was no humor in his voice, as if he already sensed the harrowing nature of Ace's request. 

Ace pulled another cigarette from his pack.

He lit it, then with a flat, emotionless tone, he said, "I want out."

Singer was silent beside him, drawing in a breath at those words. "You sure that's what ya want?" he asked after a minute or so.

"I've had ten years to think it over," Ace said, then took another drag.

Beside him, staring off into the distance, Singer sighed, then adjusted the sunglasses on his face, before nodding and saying, "Alright."

Slowly Ace pulled his vest out of the way and drew his pistol, handing it to Singer by the barrel, heart pounding in his chest as his brother took it from him. He didn't want Singer using his own pistol, and risk having it traced back to him somehow. He could toss the pistol right in the unmarked grave with Ace's body, and no one would ever find it. The club would make sure of it. They would be sworn to secrecy, and take their knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Ace's death to the grave. This day would never happen, and it would never be mentioned again.

But there was only one way to leave the Pagan Outlaws.

In a body bag.

Ace enjoyed the sunset for a minute longer before closing his eyes as Singer took the safety off, then loaded one round in the chamber and he felt that gun pressed to the back of his head. The silence stretched, only broken by the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, and the sound of his own breathing as he patiently waited for Singer to pull the trigger.

But after an infintely long minute, he felt Singer remove the barrel and heard him flip the safety back on with a sigh.

Ace blinked his eyes back open.

Then he turned to glance at Singer.

"Why aintchya shot me yet?" Ace asked him.

Singer flipped the gun in his grasp and held it out to Ace by the barrel and said, "Like I said, brother, times have changed."

With his brow wrinkled in confusion, Ace took the pistol back, then watched Singer walk back to his car. "Come on," he called. "Let's head on out to the Black Powder and get a drink."

He left Ace standing there and headed back down, beyond the trees and Ace cursed, but eventually he followed, stamping his cigarette out once he'd smoked it down to the filter. Then he did just as Singer suggested, and followed him to the Black Powder bar and grille on the egde of town. It was dark by the time they reached the establishment, the parking lot filled to the brim with motorcycles, a few cars and trucks here and there. The air smelling strongly of greasy burgers, overcooked french fries and cigar smoke. Ace easily found a spot near the entrance, as the space was reserved for members.

There was a crowd of Pagans, most of them lit, holding beer bottles and shot glasses, shouting and smiling at Ace's return, all of them wanting to crowd around him to shake his hand, but Singer held them off for a moment. "Settle down, settle down!" he said over the crowd, and everyone quieted. "I need every member in the back lot!" he said to everyone, then led Ace that direction, hand on his shoulder.

They pushed through the crowd of patrons to the back entrance and went outside, every member following shortly. A crowd of close to twenty men corralled outside, and Singer said, "Alright everybody gather 'round!" He instructed them to form a circle around the two of them, then, keeping his hand on Ace's shoulder he said, "This mothefucker told me he wanted out!" Heads turned to each other, and then to Ace, eyeing him in confusion and bewilderment.

To say he didn't want to be part of the club anymore was the highest form of insult, and none of them could possibly understand why Ace would want that. To be a Pagan was for life. To leave was to reject his family, his brothers, and their way of life. To forsake everything he'd been taught. Ace had been one of the most loyal to his family, taking the fall for their organization and serving time for them. He'd shown such devotion and loyalty to the brotherhood, yet he would throw that all away, the day he finally got out.

But Singer let go of his shoulder and turned to face him, smiling like he held all the cards.

"Ya want out? Here's how it's gonna go then." He folded his arms. "You're gonna hand me your gun an' your cut, and the keys to your bike, then you're gonna let the boys here beat the ever lovin' shit outta ya, til your ass is black and blue, and then you can be on your merry way." He vaguely gestured to the open road beyond the parking lot. Ace cocked his brow at Singer.

"You're gonna let me live?"

"Yep. But to everyone that knows ya, you'll be dead. You forget what ya know about the club, an' we forget your ass ever even existed."

Instead of killing him, they would strip him of his livelihood, beat him senseless, then let him live the remainder of his days suffering the indignation of being treated like every other government ass kissing white collar waste of space in the county? And on top of it they'd even take the keys to his bike? But as long as he kept his mouth shut about what he knew about the club, they'd let him go on about his life as if the last twenty years had never happened?

But...they'd take his bike though. That was just cruel of a thing to do to a man.

It was worse than death.

"You mean my ass would have to hitchhike back to town?" he grumbled, hardly thrilled by the prospect. Singer nodded, grinning smugly at him. "Hell I'd rather die," he groused with a look of disgust, making most of them laugh. He grimaced at the thought of being bruised and bloody and sticking out his thumb for a ride. But evidently, just as Singer had said, a lot had changed while he was away. He was kind of curious as to what else the new Cabinet put in place while he was gone. Singer couldn't be very detailed in his letters since the correctional officers read all his mail. He was kept up to date on who died and who'd been had, but evidently there was more to know.

He decided he'd at least like to live long enough to share words with the new President, and find out what more had changed.

Ace exhaled a sigh.

"Shit never mind then," he mumbled, after thinking it over. "I'm stayin' in, 'cause my ass ain't goin' nowhere walkin'."

Singer laughed at him, clapped him on the back and waved him back inside, saying, "Come on, let's get a drink. Find your sorry lookin' ass a woman too. Been ten years since ya even seen one. Any man with a death wish ain't gonna wanna die once they got a nice pair o' tits in their face." Ace nodded a little in relent at that, following him back across the parking lot, the others joining them shortly. 

"Ya know they got congigal visits in the state pen, smart ass."

"Yeah but name one woman that would drive four hours just ta come see your ugly ass."

"Just quit your doggin' and lead the way, brother," he grumbled at Singer, shaking his head as he followed the younger man inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cheyenne's Faceclaim (Amy Schumer)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/14c09020fe54519585c2e560e9c5b060/a941ccbd490371ba-df/s2048x3072/67dadb625157bf6a6af4e7c4d0a986a4d2ac9743.jpg)

Singer was still chuckling a little and shaking his head at Ace as he led him through the crowd of patrons and over to the counter, where a curvy blonde in a tight shirt and leather jacket was behind the bar, pouring drinks for two younger members. They quickly snatched up their beer and scooted out of the way of the older pair as they approached, and Cheyenne smiled at them both. Singer imagined that Ace barely remembered her, as she'd only just started hanging around the members when he was locked away. But now, ten years later she was a full fledged Pagan Lady, with her name stitched into the back of her jacket to separate her from the rest of the riff raff that poured in.

She was a cut above the rest, only fucked around with members of the Pagans, was fiercely loyal to the club, and though she was no super model, she had a nice ass, big tits and some of the best lips this side of the county line. Singer himself had verified such a claim before settling down with his old lady. Instead of handing Ace a beer, she set a plate in front of him first, piled high with chilli cheese fries and a burger on the side. Then she put a hand on her hip and gestured to it, saying, "Figured you might want yourself some real food after all that prison junk." The corner of Ace's lip twitched. 

"Much obliged to ya, darlin'," he said to her, and slid the plate closer, intent on picking it up and sniffing it. 

"So whaddya havin'?" she asked, and Singer looked to Ace for his choice of drink.

"Whiskey," he muttered, sniffing the plate before reaching for a cheese drenched fry and tasting it, lifting a brow, but not quite like he found it somewhat to his liking. Cheyenne lifted a whole bottle of Jack Daniel's from the shelf and set in on the counter, then gave them a couple of shot glasses. When Singer started looking around, and was about to suggest to Cheyenne that she round up one of the girls for Ace, the Enforcer snatched up the bottle, then carried it and the plate to an empty booth in the corner. Singer furrowed his brow, but without question snatched up the glasses and followed him to the table, then poured whiskey while Ace sampled his food.

"Why don't I have Chey get ya nice lookin' girl," he said, as Ace stared at his burger before biting into it. 

He chewed, then said with his mouthful, "In a minute." He swallowed. "First, tell me what's new."

Singer nodded, sitting back in his seat and downing his shot of Jack. He half figured Ace would be far more concerned with some of the changes made to the club's handling of things, and would rather get down to business first before pleasure, especially after what just happened outside, and Ace's decision to cut loose. He studied his friend, eyeing the wear and tear in his features and the unimpressed look on his face. Almost like he was more happy behind bars than being free. His eyes kept shifting around too, watching everyone in the room suspiciously, as they were drinking or shooting pool while music played since Singer and his band weren't performing a gig that night. 

Watched them like Singer used to watch people in the prison yard when he did his stint for arson.

He likely didn't recognize the majority of the faces there that night, and Singer made a mental note to introduce the new ones later. He rubbed his chin as he studied Ace, seeing the same face, but not quite the same man. Before he was locked away the last time, he'd been a different person, but now there was something entirely off about him, and Singer wondered what it could be. This wasn't like all the other times he'd served a sentence, and something had changed the man. He'd told Ace things were different now, but hadn't expected Ace to be different too.

"Alright, but first tell me why you wanted out."

Ace swallowed his bite, reached for a napkin from the booth to wipe his hands, crumbling it in a ball, then leaning back in his seat. 

He was silent for a minute more before he finally said, with that slow, measured way he always spoke, "This gun is a lot heavier than I remember it being," And as soon as he said that, Singer understood. He highly doubted Ace went completely soft while he was behind bars, but he'd obviously done some soul searching while he was in there, some real hard thinking, and decided he was tired. "I'm gettin' old," he told Singer next, who nodded in understanding. "Tired too. But bein' in the club is the only kind of life I know. Only thing I've done since I was just sixteen years of age. So if I can't bring myself to do that anymore, then...well, I reckoned there weren't no point in livin' anymore either."

Singer nodded at all that and propped his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. It made sense really. Ace had done too much, seen too much, and had more blood on his hands than he wanted to live with. But he couldn't just leave. There was no leaving their kind of life behind, and Singer couldn't really imagine Ace settling down somewhere anyway, much less with a wife and kids, behind a white picket fence, on the right side of the law. But he was still a rider, and he'd rather die than be disgraced. Stripped of everything he held dear and forced to live with the shame of turning his back on his brothers like that. 

Ace was no turn coat, and being kicked out of the club like that would be the same as if he'd turned everyone in to the feds, in his eyes.

"No offense to your lady friend, but this shit is worse than prison food," Ace grumbled, shoving the plate away and downing his whiskey, making Singer chuckle. He poured them both a second. 

"Ya get used to it," he said.

"So ya wanna tell me why you were gonna drag me out to the back lot an' beat the shit outta me?" Ace prompted, and Singer just smiled.

"Like I said, things have changed." 

He fiddled with his shot glass for a second before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a metal cigarette tin, full of Camel non-filters, pulling one out and lighting it up. 

"I might not have mentioned this in any of my letters," he continued, "But the feds have really been crackin' down on some of the other chapters. Been harder and harder to handle business per usual. And I don't know if you heard, but you remember Robert Morrison?" Ace nodded. "Yeah well they sent his ass to federal prison, and he ain't gettin' out any time soon. He's serving three consecutive life sentences. There's word goin' around that he was set up, but they don't know if it was the cops, or somebody on the inside, but the Prez has been real paranoid about bein' taken out, so he's been cleanin' house."

"No shit?" Ace questioned, and Singer nodded.

"He's been extra careful about who we do business with, and as far as the cops are concerned, we ain't outlaws anymore. In name only. We're a legitimate club nowadays." Ace raised a brow at that, but didn't question. "Any dealin' we do on the side is of no concern, but here at the Black Powder we're careful. Far as anyone outside the club knows, we ain't doin' nothin' illegal, and the bar ain't a front for nothin' either. We're all legitimate, licensed business owners on straight shit now. Ain't buyin' no cops, ain't startin' trouble with the town. We've even got a charter." Ace raised both brows this time and muttered 'shit' under his breath. "Yeah, so you be extra careful who sees that clip before ya pull it out."

Ace stared down at his plate for a moment, with a look of consternation. After a minute or so, he topped off his whiskey glass, downed his shot, then reached for a cigarette and lit it, contemplating. If his reason for cutting out was because he was tired of the 'outlaw' part in Pagan Outlaws, he might've come home at just the right time to enjoy that change of pace. But Singer could imagine it wasn't that simple. As Ace had aforementioned, he only knew one way to live, and probably didn't know what the fuck to do with himself, now that Singer had put a damper on his, well, his 'plans'. He'd hit what they like to call a midlife crisis, and Singer was watching it unfold.

"But the women are still easy," he said, hoping to brighten the sullen mood that settled between them, to which Ace nodded as if responding to an unasked question. "And Cheyenne ain't got no old man ta answer to," he added, eyes flitting to the woman behind the bar.

Ace just nodded again, still staring at the table. Then, slowly, he patted down one of the pockets of his vest before pulling out a deck of cards and opening the box. He slid them out, then without shuffling, he laid the cards face down in front of him, looking to be setting up a game of solitaire to keep his hands busy, puffing on his cigarette as he dealt them out. Singer would be concerned for his friend, but he knew it would take some time before he'd adjusted to being on the outside.

Hell, maybe he was concerned he wouldn't even know what to do with a woman after so many years. Stranger things had happened. There were also worst ways to go crazy than simply flipping over cards. At least he hadn't flipped out and pulled his Baretta, then opened fire on everyone inside the bar just so the pigs would come running and throw his ass back in prison. "You can stay here at the clubhouse for as long as you need to," Singer told him, to which he nodded. "I imagine the Prez'll be wantin' ta talk to ya soon. He's away on some business right now, which is why he weren't around to welcome ya back, but I'm sure he'll want to, and we can discuss everything in more detail at the next meetin'."

"Alright," Ace finally spoke, nodding again, then turned back to his cards, glancing around the room every once in awhile, like he expected someone to walk up on him and shank his ass while he had his back turned.

"Hey," Singer said, getting his attention, and he plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "Everyone of these people in here would take a bullet for ya," he assured, hoping Ace might loosen some of his posture, but he didn't. Just flicked his bottom lip over his teeth as he looked around like he so often used to do when he was casing the room for occupants and judging their threat whenever they'd meet with new suppliers or potential buyers before negotiating a deal. Like he was judging whether or not anyone in the bar was secretly a federal agent, or if any of them were packing. Seeing just how many rounds he could let off before he was taken down in the fight.

Singer highly doubted anyone had gotten to him while he was on the inside. He never made a deal with the cops when he'd gotten caught that last time with a truck full of unregistered weapons they'd been moving to the safehouse and charged with intent to sell. He served his full sentence and hadn't ratted out anyone as his accomplice in the act. Gave a signed confession and took the full blame for it. Told Singer over the phone, "That's what my dumbass gets for bein' caught," And didn't say another word about it. Maybe he'd found religion while he was on the inside, and since he was trying to get right with God or something, he didn't feel comfortable around club members anymore.

Singer wasn't sure, but maybe after the man had enough whiskey in him, he'd spill his guts.

He had no idea how the night was going to go, but he'd always been a curious one, and luckily, Ace had always been a curious man.

That was partially why they were friends.

Because similar to Singer himself, Ace was an entertainer in his own right.

Singer was bound to find amusement of some sort, having him around again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: for those of you that have ever had to literally run for your life from an abusive spouse, this might be triggering.
> 
> [Autumn's Faceclaim (Hailee Steinfeld)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/59f34c4aad3a4848e6d752d65bd6ff49/5cea51f6903370af-25/s1280x1920/7c3414e8e2128804f5cb4e2cdeb3f67a4901c14e.jpg)

A quarter of a mile away from where Ace sat in a booth across from his friend at the Black Powder, a house in a fenced yard was quiet and still, as the occupants inside were fast asleep. Or, one of them was. Autumn Bixby lay awake still, keeping the sound of her own breathing to a minimum as to not disturb the man slumbering beside her, keeping perfectly still under the weight of the arm thrown about her waist. He hadn't curled his arm around her to show affection, nor had it been to give her a sense of security under his protection. Casey put his arm around her to keep her from escaping his clutches that night. 

Held her close so he could feel her slip away and drag her back before she left the house.

She knew because he'd whispered such things in her ear with a sinister voice before passing out.

Tears fell silently from her cheeks, scared to even tremble, let alone choke out a sob, for fear of it waking him up. She'd had enough of this possessive, untrusting behavior of his, had been fed up for months now, but had nowhere to go if she left him, so she'd stayed. She had no job, no driver's license or vehicle, no friends or family that werent Casey's, and no one to turn to if she wanted to get away from him. But no longer was her head buried in the sand. No longer was she deluded into thinking he was jealous or possessive just because he loved her. She might be young still, but no longer was she blindly ignorant of his toxic behavior.

He hadn't put his hands on her recently, so there were no cuts or bruises to show the police, and there was no proof he'd ever hit her in the past. It was only his word against hers, and she knew he'd have all his friends contest that he'd only ever treated her like gold. That every argument they'd ever had was just because she was a lying, whoring bitch that provoked him, that instigated every fight so she could play the victim and make him look like a no good piece of shit. Even though he was. She had no friends she could stay with, no money for a motel room, and there were no battered women's shelters in town, even if she could get to one.

She didn't even have a cellphone because he wouldn't allow it. He'd cut her off from everything and everyone she knew and trusted when he'd moved them to that town to be closer to his own family and far away from hers. Her only option was to sneak quietly out of the house, maybe pack a small bag, grab her purse and run to the nearest gas station or liquor store, then hope there was somebody inside that might take pity on her and help her get away. Maybe she could hitchhike her way to her parents house clear on the other side of the country, but in all likelihood it was a vain hope. Mostly likely she'd be beaten and raped, or kidnapped and murdered, by the stranger offering a ride.

But anything was better than staying with Casey. She knew there was a convenience store next to a biker bar some half a mile down the road or so, and at least one house in between. Maybe somebody in that house could take her in, just long enough to figure out what to do, where to go from there. So after waiting an hour, listening to Casey's steady breathing, she slowly started to slip out from under him, freezing in place when she felt him twitch in his sleep. For all the threats of snatching her back if she tried to escape him, he was a heavy sleeper that night, didn't even wake up when there was a crackle of thunder in the distance.

She moved at the pace of a snail when slipping from his grasp, and in nothing more than a knee length navy blue silk nightgown, tiptoed downstairs in complete darkness, her memory and familiarity with the layout of the house being the only thing that kept her from tripping over something on the way through. Quietly she padded to the laundry room and opened the dryer to fish out some clothing she'd washed that morning, stuffing some of it in a plastic grocery bag. Then she walked back in the kitchen. She was just about to dress, then hunt for her shoes and her purse, when the kitchen light flipped on, making her freeze in place before slowly turning around to see Casey scowling.

He must not have been as deeply asleep as she thought he was, either that or he let her believe he was asleep, but was really awake the whole time. He looked at the kitchen table and spotted the plastic bag full of clothes, and she could tell by the look on his face that he knew precisely what she was up to. Confirmed when he asked, "You're trying to leave me?" Fear settled in her and for a moment she thought of giving up this nonsense and going back to bed. But when she saw the anger on his face at her betrayal, she knew what she had to do. He didn't look hurt or broken hearted at her leaving him, didn't even look ashamed in anyway even though he'd caused this.

Just looked like he was going to murder her, and at that, Autumn had seen enough.

At the precise moment Casey lunged at her, she darted toward the back door, flinging it open and ran out onto the porch, taking the steps two at a time before she hit the dirt and ran through the yard. She could hear Casey chasing her at first, calling her name, but she didn't listen. She just ran and kept running, scraping her legs against the bushes sprouting every so often in the field beside their house. She made it across the field and to the long stretch of highway between the house and the interstate. Vaguely she could hear an engine being revved and tires scraping over gravel, meaning Casey had given up the chase on foot in favor of following her with his car.

Autumn's heart pounded violently in her chest as she ran, bare feet smacking the pavement, rocks and small bits of debris cutting into her soles. But she ignored it and kept running, as fast as she possibly could. She stopped at the only house around for miles and hauled ass up the driveway, running in the grass beside it so the gravel wouldn't bludgeon her feet. There were no lights on and no car parked in the driveway, but vainly Autumn hoped there was still someone inside and they were just sleeping, as it was very late at night. She ran up onto the porch and banged loudly on the door with her fist.

"Please! Somebody help me! Please! Anybody!" she cried but no one flipped on a light or came downstairs. 

As she was pounding fruitlessly on the wooden door she saw headlights flash, lighting up the house, and for a moment she thought the owner was home, until she turned and saw a dented black Jeep Cherokee and knew it was Casey. He must've seen her run up the driveway. The Jeep came to a screeching halt as she turned, and surely whoever lived there would not be happy to find tire tracks in their driveway when they finally got home. Just as Casey was shifting into park and starting to climb out of the Jeep, shouting at her to get in the car, Autumn took off again.

Blindly she ran into the small patch of woods between the farmhouse and the last stretch of highway before the interstate exit, knowing Casey couldn't follow her without totaling his vehicle. She nearly broke her ankle twice tearing her way through the underbrush, tripping and falling several times, but she despite the pain from the scratches in her skin and the twisted ankle she pushed on, determined to make it to the other side. But Casey, who had thought one step ahead, was already turning back onto the highway as she was exiting the patch of woods and stepping onto it.

Adrenaline and instinct pushed her to run, to keep running, despite how close the Jeep was to catching up to her. She shrieked when it came out of nowhere and nearly hit her, as Casey had stomped his foot on the gas to get ahead of her and cut her off, screeching to a halt in front of her.

He nearly hit her again when she veered to the left to go around it and he threw it in reverse. She was quite certain at this point that he was actually trying to hit her. Maybe not kill her, but hit her hard enough to knock her silly so she'd think twice about leaving him again. "Get in the car!" he screamed again, and if she moved to the right or to the left, so did the car, blocking her path. "Get in the fucking car, Autumn!" he barked, and she sobbed. But she didnt want to get in the car and she'd honestly rather be hit by it than spend one more minute living with this man. So she ignored the screech of tires as she ran to the right again, off the pavement, across the ditch and up onto the embankment. 

She came so close to being hit when Casey foolishly stomped the gas and put his front end in the ditch. It had started downpouring at some point, turning the dirt to mud and he spun tires trying to back the vehicle out of the rut he put himself in. Despite having all wheel drive he was stuck for a moment because of the depth of the ditch and the angle he'd drove the front end into it. It bought Autumn Just enough time to escape him again, choosing to run across the embankment next to the pavement where the state road workers had trimmed back the grass and bushes, instead of directly on the road. At least then, Casey couldn't run her over again. She slipped and slid down the bank several times as the rain kept pouring.

She was now soaked, her flimsy nightgown clinging to her frame, and she might as well be naked for all the good it did to conceal her form underneath. About fifty yards ahead of her she could spot a neon sign and knew she was close to the bar that sat just off the exit ramp. The convience store next to it looked to be closed perminantly, as the windows were boarded up and black plastic garbage bags covered the gas pumps that had yet to be removed. But the bar was still open, she could see vehicles in front of it, and faintly hear music playing from within. There was a string of motorcycles out front, cluttering up the parking spaces closest to the front entrance.

Maybe someone inside the bar would let her use their phone and she could dial the emergency hotline. Maybe the police would finally throw Casey in jail this time too, instead of buying his string of lies and excuses like they did the last time. She didn't know what she would do from here on out, or where she would go, but she covered her breasts as they were exposed by the soaked fabric of her night clothes, hugging her shivering frame, and pushed her way inside the bar. It should come to no surprise that she was stared at virtually from the moment she entered, but she ignored the stares of the men in the establishment and headed straight over to the counter, seeing a woman behind it serving drinks.

"Excuse me, c-can I use your phone?" she asked, raising her voice a little to be heard over the noise.

She'd expected the woman to nod and simply hand her a phone, or ask one of the people in the establishment to let her use theirs, but she didn't count on the woman biting her head off.

"Oh hell no!" she barked, getting angry. "Your ass can walk right back on outta here and go back to wherever the hell you came from!"

"Please, I just need to use the phone-"

"Use the phone my ass! No, uh-uh, I ain't lettin' in some little crackhead lookin' for a hand-out! This ain't no fuckin' charity, so you best get to steppin' right the fuck now!" She pointed to the door. "Go on! Get!"

She'd assumed Autumn was just some deadbeat, because she was barefoot and barely clothed, covered in dirt, like she was just looking to score some cash for drugs. Just a mooch of some kind, and it seemed apparent this had happened before to this woman, maybe often, that some stranger would appear out of nowhere, and hassle the bar keep and her customers. Headlights shined in the glass door as a black Jeep was pulling into the parking lot and Autumn started to cry again, knowing what that meant. Casey was coming for her, and these people weren't going to help her, were they? "Please, I need help!" she sobbed.

But she feared it was too late.


	4. Chapter 4

Ace had been at the bar for about an hour or so when it started raining. His eyes darted around the room curiously when he heard members and even some of the paying customers curse, heading outside to cover their bikes or roll up their windows. "Guess I ain't gotta take my bike to get it washed," he commented dryly, making Singer chuckle, then turning back to his cards. He'd loosened up a little bit the more he drank, even bringing himself to chuckle at a few of Singer's smart assed comments. He'd introduced him to some of the new faces, and while he didn't like the shifty looks in their eyes, he said hello to them. 

Even brought himself to hold conversation with one of them for longer than five seconds. His vest said Otto, and Ace vaguely remembered the kid. Jesse Rumney, he was quite certain was his given name. He'd been a prospect at the time, but now he was a patched member of the Pagans, and not looking so much like a gangly little knot head anymore. He'd done some growing up while Ace was gone. Was even married now. Made Ace feel old as dirt to see a grown ass man where there used to be a slip of a kid, but eventually he wandered back over to another table, and left Ace to his own devices once more. 

He started his third or forth game of solitaire, flipping the cards over, feeling the pull of whiskey in his blood, while Singer smoked another cigarette and tapped his boot to the beat of the song on the stereo. They were about halfway through the bottle of Jack, and Cheyenne and the other women hanging around were just starting to look appealing enough to drag to the back room, when the door swung open again. She came in like a tidal wave washing over his senses, all legs and arms, shivering from the chill and hugging herself tight. Her clothes clung to her as she was sopping wet, long hair hanging limp over one shoulder. Her feet were dirty and bare, and she was covered in scrapes.

Like she'd been running from something when she walked in and limped over to the counter. Cheyenne immediately started to bark at her, and though Ace couldn't hear what she said over the noise, he could lip read. Got good at it while he was locked away, and caughts some snippits of what she said. Thought the girl was some kind of crackhead wandering in from outside, making up some excuse of needing to use the phone so she could get in out of the rain. But Ace could see it in the tension of her frame, the tremor in her voice, and the tears in her eyes that she was no bum looking for a hand-out. That little girl was scared of something. Or someone maybe. Headlights flashed in the window.

"Getta load o' this shit," Singer commented across from him, as some snot nosed white collar with a scowl on his face burst into the bar seconds later.

Hadn't even taken the time to shut off the engine before he got out of his Jeep, slammed the door, and ran inside. By now, nearly everyone in the room had paused in conversation to watch events unfold, the handful of members around the pool table abandoning their game in favor of spectating, leaning on their pool sticks, as the young man approached the frightened woman, who backed away, shaking her head and crying as he reached for her. There was nothing remarkable about the boy, just wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, had cropped hair and a clean face, and he didn't look much bigger than her, but every bit of her slender frame tensed at his approach.

Ace knocked back his shot of whiskey and slowly rose to his feet, that gun under his vest suddenly not quite so heavy a burden just then.

Felt light as a feather as he slowly made his way across the room, just as Cheyenne was making her way around the counter to shout at them both to leave the establishment. She didn't want the trouble this young couple brought in. The man grabbed the young woman's arm with intent to drag her out kicking and screaming, saying, "Let's go, Autumn! Get in the fucking car!" He pointed to the door. She was sobbing, shaking her head, and trying to pull away from him, begging him to leave her alone. Ace didn't know what their quarrel was about, nor did he care to know, all he knew was that he saw red when he got a look at the boy, so he snatched him up by the collar.

For all the changing he'd done behind bars, well, he supposed some things would never change.

Could've been the liquor, or the atmosphere of the Black Powder steadily creeping into his senses, but in that moment, it was like the last ten years had never happened.

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and it looked like the old Ace was back in the saddle again.

"Hey man get the fuck off me!" he swore at Ace, a bit distractedly. "This ain't none of your business."

Ace yanked him closer. "You're in this bar, it becomes my business," he sneered.

Singer and all the boys sitting down suddenly rose to their feet when they sensed a fight - or something much worse - about to take place. Someone paused the music on the stereo, and the bar erupted in a low murmur, some occupants complaining about the lack of music, some just interested in the tension between Ace and the young man as he shoved him away from the battered frightened woman near the counter. 

"Ace, I want these two outta my bar right now!" Cheyenne complained. "Both of 'em! Him _and_ that bitch! I don't need their bullshit runnin' my customers off!" 

Ace turned to the loud mouthed bartender with sneer.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, woman, and get back behind that counter," he growled, and it lit a fire under the the woman, who clamped her mouth shut and got back behind the counter, just as he said. He turned to eye the pretty little girl who looked at Ace with as much fear in her eyes if not more than she did her old man, then he said. "Little girl, wontchya have a seat on that bar stool." He turned back to her husband. "I'm gonna have a little talk with your ol' man." She backed up until she hit the seat behind her, then hefted herself onto it. The bar was deathly silent now. Ace rose his voice anyway, just to be heard. 

"If you are _not_ a preferred customer of this establishment, kindly get the fuck outta this bar! It's closin' time!" He put his hand on the shoulder of the girl's husband to keep him from escaping. "You're a special exception," he said, patting his shoulder. 

A few patrons left immediately, but those that were relutctant were pushed out by Singer and the rest of the members, who closed and locked the doors behind them, knowing precisely what was likely to happen. Singer then flipped the sign on the door around to say 'closed', while Otto turned off the neon sign in the window. Now all that were left were members and a few of their Ol Ladies, who knew better than to ever breathe a word of what they witnessed tonight. Plus the woman and her husband, and Ace himself of course, who pointed to a vacant chair. 

"Wontchya sit down, boy, an' we'll have ourselves a drink."

"Look, I don't want no trouble with you."

Oh it was far too late for that.

Ace pulled the pistol from his vest and flipped the safety off, remembering he had one in the chamber still, that he was supposed to have been shot with earlier that afternoon. Seemed fate had better plans for that bullet. "I said sit down!" he barked at the man, who blanched at the sight of the gun and backed himself up into the chair, stumbling into it. Ace could practically smell the fear rolling off the boy once realizing the gravity of the situation he'd gotten himself into. Not looking quite so mean now, but more resembling a scared little kid about to piss his pants.

Boys like him were always playing at being tough, that is until a bigger badder wolf came into the den.

Ace slowly turned and walked back to his booth to snatch up the bottle of whiskey and collect his playing cards in a haphazard pile.

He carried them back to the table and sat down across from the sniveling boy, setting the cards aside and untwisting the cap from the bottle of Jack. There were whiskey glasses left on the table so Ace picked two of them up and dumped the contents out so he could fill them with whiskey. Faintly he could hear Cheyenne quietly cursing at the mess she'd have to clean. But the boys were silent, watching the young man just as intently as Ace, like a pack of wolves gazing hungrily at their next meal. Ace poured the whiskey, then slid a glass over to the boy saying, "Drink." When he didn't comply, Ace picked his gun back up and aimed it at his face. "I said drink!"

Slowly, and with a shaking hand, he picked up the glass and downed the shot, grimacing at the taste. Someone had left a pack of cigarettes on the table too, so Ace reached for one and lit it. "What's your name, boy?" he asked, tossing the lighter on the table between them and leaning back in his seat, pistol resting in his lap.

"C-Casey," he stammered.

"Casey? Casey what?"

"Casey Florence, s-sir."

Ace blinked at that, then took a drag off the cigarette in his hand. It was a menthol, which he hated, and while it didn't bother him so much in the joint as beggars couldn't always be choosers, he hated the taste of it right then, so he set it in the ashtray. "Casey fuckin' Florence. Hmph. Sounds like a girl's name," Ace told the boy, and distinctly heard Singer snort nearby. "Your parents must've hated you." He downed his own glass of whiskey that faintly tasted of something bitter, then he reached to pick up his deck of cards, idly shuffling them in his hands as he spoke. "I think that's your problem," he commented. 

"Most usually is with fucked up little piss ants like you...Momma didn't hold ya enough...Daddy didn't play catch with ya...somethin' of that nature." 

He stacked the cards neatly on the table between them, then reached for the cigarette still burning down to the filter. "I can relate to that," he continued. "Hell my daddy didn't play catch with me either. Kinda hard to do that when your ass is six feet under." He puffed on the cigarette. "Ya like ta gamble, Mr. Florence?" he asked, and the boy mutely shook his head. "That's a shame, because you and I are gonna play a little game." He pointed to the deck of cards. "You're gonna cut that deck o' cards. Then you're gonna pick one up and flip it over, and if that card has a spade on it, you can walk on outta here."

He propped his arm on the table, sure to aim his pistol right between his fearful eyes and added, "But you ain't walkin' outta here until you pick a card."

Ace smirked as he watched the boy's lip tremble, could almost hear his heart pounding like a bass drum in his chest in the tenuous silence, and the fear in those eyes was a high unlike any Ace could ever experience with drugs. That rush to his senses created by the thrill of a life hanging in the balance, held in the palm of his hand, and the pistol he carried like a pendulum swinging above the boy's neck, as the clock slowly ticked. He'd be lying if he didn't say this was always his favorite part of the game, that long stretch of silence as his victim slowly reached with shaking hand toward the deck, sometimes drawing away, sometimes too scared to even reach for fear of it being their final moment.

Those precious few seconds as their life flashed before their eyes.

But all too soon the seconds passed, as Casey took a breath and tentatively reached to pick up the top half of the deck and set it aside, then draw a card from the middle of the deck. He seemed to take his time with that too, squeezing his eyes shut as he flipped over the card with a panicked motion, and Ace's expression flattened. Casey opened his eyes and looked down, exhaling in relief when he saw a black seven with a spade next to it. Ace leaned back in his seat, flipping the safety back on and holstering his pistol. "Well that's a little disappointin'," he mumbled. "I was really lookin' forward to blowin' the brains outta the back o' your skull an' moppin' the floor with your blood."

Then an errant thought hit him and he smiled, saying, "Wanna double your money an' go again?" Casey shot out of his seat, twitching a little and scratching his head as he shook it. "Get the fuck outta here an' don't come back. I see you in this bar again? You'd better be ready to try your luck again too." With a shaky breath the boy nodded, but then approached the girl saying, "Come on, let's go," To which Ace held up a hand and said, "Uh-uh. That ain't part of the deal. I didn't say she'd be goin' with ya. She's gonna stay right where she is. Now you've got five seconds to find your car and leave before I change my mind and kill you anyway."

His eyes flitted back and forth between Ace and his woman before mumbling, "Fuck it," like she wasn't worth the trouble anyway, and he headed to the door. Singer unlocked it for him, and politely held it open, but then shoved him out into the rain as he passed with a chuckle. He closed the door and locked it back up, and the boys quietly murmured to one another about what happened. Ace rubbed his brow before sliding out of his chair. "Somebody turn the fuckin' music back on," he requested and Cheyenne picked up a remote that had been tucked on a shelf under the counter, powering on the stereo and Burnin' Sky by Bad Company started playing. 

The boys turned back to what they were previously doing, shooting pool and quietly talking about what just happened while their women hung on their arm or sat in their lap. Ace snatched up his bottle of whiskey. He took a swig straight from the bottle before striding over to the counter, eyes on the soaked, shivering brunette on the bar stool. She was far better looking than any woman in this place, and Ace would give his left nut to bend her over a table, but having ten years of pent up sexual rage under his belt, he would likely kill her if he got his hands on her, and he wasn't too keen on hurting the poor girl.

But he loomed over her and stared intently, puffing on his cigarette one last time before leaning in and snuffing it out in the ashtray behind her. Then he leaned against the counter. She eyed him mistrustingly, like he'd rip her face off. "I don't hear a 'thank you'," he said to her.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"You should be thankin' me," he cautioned. "I just saved you from asshole, if I do recall."

"Thank you."

"That's better." He looked her over. "Ya gotta a friend you can call?" She shook her head. "You can stay here then. Cheyenne, get this girl a jacket or somethin', and see that she's taken care of."

Cheyenne, who evidently hadn't quite learned her lesson the first time around, had an argument to make. "No, uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "This ain't no halfway house, Ace. If she's gonna be in here, she's gonna pay her way like everybody else. An' if she ain't got no money, then she can put out or get out, like every other woman. Ain't gonna be treatin' her with no special privilege-"

"Woman, if you don't quit runnin' goddamn mouth an' do as I say, Ima knock your fuckin' teeth in," he warned, and Cheyenne balked at that, but she shut her mouth regardless. He turned back to the shivering girl in his sights. He thought about it for a second or two, then found a compromise and said, "She can serve our drinks. When my friends get low on beer, she can bring us a cold one." Cheyenne huffed, but relented with a nod and walked away from the counter to do as he'd initially asked. "I reckon she's just jealous," he told the girl when she walked away. He took another swig from his bottle of Jack.

"She just don't wantchya hangin' around 'cause any man in here would sooner fuck you than her ugly ass."

"And what about you?" the girl questioned - Autumn, he was certain her name was - though with caution in her tone, but with a more brazen attitude than he would've thought her capable of. "That why ya ran my husband off? So you could have me to yourself?"

He chuckled. "My ass just got outta prison, after bein' away for a very long time," he admitted. "I'd probably kill you." She almost smiled at that. Almost. "Hell I'm too old for you anyway, baby. But any man would have to be blind, dumb, or dead to not want a piece of ya."

He took another drink, then walked away at that, tipping the bottle in salute. He snatched up his playing cards, then wandered back to the booth in the corner, and parked his ass on the bench. He lit up a Marlboro full flavor from his own pack, exhaling slowly, then delt out the cards. Seconds later Singer joined him at the table.

"And here I was thinkin' you were a changed man," he said. "Pullin' your gun on that kid like that."

Ace just sucked on the cigarette in his mouth and said, "I _am_ a changed man. Ten years ago I would've made him walk outta this bar holdin' his own intestines. Or made him watch me fuck his wife."

Singer chuckled, "As if you ain't still gonna."

Ace just snorted and flipped his cards.

"I'm tempted. _Very_ tempted."


	5. Chapter 5

The woman addressed as Cheyenne came out of the kitchen holding a towel and an oversized denim jacket, then waved Autumn behind the counter. She looked disgruntled still, but mostly at the man called Ace, who'd threatened to knock her teeth in. It took Autumn a moment to snap out of her trance, still staring at Ace in the booth in the corner, before she hopped down off the bar stool and scurried around the bar. She accepted the towel with a small 'thank you', then patted herself mostly dry before slipping on the jacket and buttoning it up. She had to roll up the sleeves though, so she could see her hands, as her arms were a lot shorter than whoever this coat belonged to. 

She glanced back at the men gathering around the pool table or occupying chairs and barstools, with this overwhelming sense that she'd entered a place with far more dangerous men than the one she'd just escaped. Autumn wasn't stupid. She didn't have to see it with her own eyes to know that the man called Ace had used that gun of his before. She could feel it. It was all in his slow quiet mannerisms and barely contained rage. The eerie smile on his face when he watched her husband debate before slowly picking up a card, like he quite enjoyed watching the color drain from Casey's face. Her heart was still pounding at how narrowly he'd escaped death.

He'd had precisely one in four chances to pick up a card of the right suit, and if it hadn't been a seven of spades, his brains would be splattered against the wall behind him. Cheyenne snapped her finger's in Autumn's face to get her attention so she turned her eyes away from Ace in the corner, chatting with another Pagan while he flipped cards.

"Now you listen here, Missy, an' you listen good," Cheyenne told her. "If your ass is gonna be in here, then you need to understand how shit works around here, got it?" Autumn mutely nodded. " Alright then. Now first off, this ain't no democracy, ya hear? In this bar, you pull your fuckin' weight around here or you hit the road. Aint havin' no scum suckin' little bitches hangin' around thinkin' they're gonna get a free ride. So you keep your fuckin' mouth shut, and you do as you're told, understand?" Again, Autumn nodded. "Now here's all you gotta do: You stand over there," She pointed to the end of the counter nearest the patrons.

"-And you watch their drinks. They start gettin' low, you pop the cap off a fresh bottle and you take it over to 'em. You set it on the table then take the old bottle and you throw it in the trash can. But don't serve the ladies, they get up to get their own drinks. You don't take no money from anyone. Members don't pay for their drinks. And if any of them try to hand ya money anyway, you take it and you put it in that jar over there." She pointed to a large, quart sized mason jar full of change and dollar bills that said "Tips". "Cause that ain't your money, you hear me? Your ass ain't earned it. That's the ladies' money, so don't you be fuckin' pocketin' that shit. Thieves get their fuckin' asses beat."

Autumn blinked at that last part. She didn't understand how it could be their money if she was the one serving drinks while the women inside all sat around and did nothing. But as Cheyenne had mentioned, this wasn't a democracy, and she had no choice but to either do as instructed, or leave. Autumn had nowhere else to go, so what else was she supposed to do but what Cheyenne told her to? Wasn't like she could call the cops like she'd initially planned to before Ace stepped in and ran her husband off. She had a feeling these people weren't the kind to welcome law enforcement into their establishment, and would not take kindly to Autumn calling the police.

She had no idea what she was getting herself into, but it was either shut up and do, or get up and leave, so she moved away from Cheyenne to lean against the counter, eyes on the beer bottles cluttering up the tables. While she stood, waiting for someone to need a beer, Cheyenne snatched up a mop and bucket to clean up the mess Ace had made when he dumped out those drinking glasses to fill them with whiskey. Autumn decided she didnt like Cheyenne and hoped she slipped and fell on her ass. Made sense as to why Ace threatened to knock her teeth in. She was a very rude, mean spirited woman, and how she'd managed to gain any favor with these people was beyond Autumn at the moment.

But soon enough, someone took a drink from their bottle as they sat around and talked with other club members and she noticed it was getting close to empty, so she reached in the cooler for another bottle of the same brand and searched for the bottle opener next. As she tentatively approached the table, the men stared at her, eyeing her like a juicy piece of meat, and the women in their laps glared hatefully. Perhaps there was some truth to what Ace had said about the men wanting a piece of her. Even with mussy hair, covered in mud and wearing a baggy denim shirt, she was still better looking than any other woman in the bar, and it made the old ladies jealous because their men paid more attention to her than them.

She was beginning to suspect that the only reason they gave these women the time of day was because they were all sluts willing to put out for them whenever they wanted, because that's all women were good for to most men, so now that she was hanging around, maybe they suspected she'd steal their men. She had absolutely no intention whasoever of doing that though. She wanted nothing to do with these criminals. None of them were all that attractive anyway, even if a handful might be semi decent men. They weren't like bikers in the movies and tv shows, handsome and muscular with chiseled features. Maybe a few were bulkier than some - probably lifted a lot of weights in prison - but most looked like your typical drug addicts.

A couple were bald and overweight, though most of the members were younger men, with a full head of hair and a scraggly beard, but they hadn't aged well. Drugs and alcohol shaved years off their lives, left some of them thin and misshapen, and all of them looked like sexual predators with roaming eyes when she approached. She shuffled over to the table and reached for the near empty bottle, then set the full one in its place. "Much obliged, little girl," the man said to her with a sickly sweet smile and a wink. She nodded and started to walk away, when he grabbed her left wrist. She froze, heart pounding furiously in her chest, but slowly turned back to him.

He eyed the gold wedding band around her ring finger. "Wontchya take that ring off," he purred at her. "You don't belong to that man no more. You're a free woman now."

She'd like to be, but she inclined her head a little in a half-shake. "I'm still legally married," she said, and he chuckled at her.

"Ya think that piece o' paper means a damn thing to anybody in here?" he asked. "Don't mean shit to us, sweetheart. Now you can keep wearin' it if ya want to, but it don't mean jack as far as any man in here is concerned. So wontchya take that off and have a seat right here on my lap." He grinned and gestured to his crotch. "Lemme show ya how _real_ man takes care of a woman."

She tried to tug her arm free, but he gripped it tighter, still with that easy going smile on his face. "A-Ace told me to-"

"Fuck that ol' geezer," he cursed, but it was said quietly enough that Ace himself wouldn't hear it from across the room. "He ain't your man either, baby. I don't see his name anywhere on ya. He don't own ya. Fuck whatever he said." The others at the table shifted about nervously, scratching their heads and shooting glances his way like they thought he might overhear, and didn't want to start trouble with the psychopath as he played solitaire. Autumn saw him briefly look up from his game and pluck the cigarette from his mouth when he spotted the younger man hassling her, but he didn't get up. She highly doubted he would even stop the man from putting his hands on her, and would only care about how he'd been insulted.

She'd have to fight for herself, looked like.

Once more the younger member tried to drag her into his lap so she wrenched away from him. He was too drunk to really keep a good grip on her anyway, but her wrist burned where the callouses on his palm had scraped her skin. She backed away, clutching her wrist. He started to get up, probably thinking he had every right to do whatever the fuck he wanted to her, just like every other whore in this bar, and she panicked. By this point, other tables were starting to become aware of what was happening too, and she looked nervously around the room. The woman looked smug as could be, like she was getting precisely what she deserved, as the man grabbed her by the arm.

"I ain't some bar whore!" she finally snapped, wrenching away from him again. Her voice was shaky, and every part of her tensed in fear of being struck, but she stood her ground, refusing to let any of them see how afraid she truly was of them. She'd spent too many years being afraid of slimy scumbags like Casey and men like them, and frankly she was sick of it. Sick of letting someone else toy with her like she was nothing more than a plaything for their amusement. Then she got an idea in her head, eyes briefly making their way to the older gentleman in the corner who's vest said 'Ace'. "Fine! Ya wanna piece o' me? Wanna drag me to that room back there and fuck my brains out? Huh?"

She shifted from one foot to the other like a boxer getting ready to swing. "You can," she said with a nod, and for a moment the man looked pleased, and reached for her again, but she snatched her arm away. "If you're lucky," she added, jutting out a finger. He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "I ain't just gonna give it up. I ain't that kinda girl. So you an' me? We're gonna play ourselves a little game. You just sit right there in that seat and I'll be right back." Leaving the man to flop back down in his chair, she scurried over to Ace's booth. "Can I borrow those?" she asked him, pointing to the cards. "I'll bring 'em right back."

Ace furrowed his brow at her, as did his friend across from him. "I'm in the middle of a game," he pointed out.

"Please?" she begged, shifting restlessly where she stood. "Please, it's just for a minute."

"Will you just give her the damn cards?" The man across from him groaned. "I wanna see where she's goin' with this."

With a sigh in resignation, Ace scooped up the cards, flipping all of them same side up, then wracked them on the table and sorted them out until they were all neatly stacked. Then he handed her the deck. "Thank you," she said, then carried it back over to the table with her. As soon as he saw those cards, the man that had hassled her looked like his curiosity was peaked. Maybe he thought he'd have to play a hand of poker to get in her pants. Or that she had something else up her sleeve. But the game she had in mind was simple. "Now as I said," she began, shuffling the deck as she spoke. "I ain't a fuckin' whore. I ain't in here ta spread my legs for anyone. I'm only in here 'cause my husband's a piece o' shit, and I ain't got nowhere else to go tonight."

"Now I'm very grateful for that man's assistance in gettin' rid of his ass," she continued, gesturing to Ace. "And I'm doubly grateful for everyone's gracious hospitality." Alright, so that last part was sarcasm. "But I ain't a whore, and I sure as hell ain't no prostitute. But I am _not_ unkind. So I'll fuck any man in here tonight...if they play my game and win." She slapped the cards down on the table with a sneer and growled, "Cut the deck." She folded both arms and scowled. Everyone at the table reared in surprise. "You draw the Queen o' Hearts outta that deck, you can fuck me tonight. If not, then you keep your hands to yourself from here on out. Sound like a fair deal?"

The man chuckled. Farley was the name on the back of his vest. So Farley chuckled at her and shook his head. "Ya know I don't rightly care too much for those odds," he drawled, rubbing his chin. "There's 52 cards in that deck. That don't leave me much of a chance."

"You'll get as fair a chance as any other man in here," she pointed out. "I'll be happy ta serve ya drinks, but I ain't fuckin' any man in here tonight unless they draw the Queen o' Hearts. You don't like those odds, you ain't gotta play. There's plenty of other fish in the sea, and I'm sure there's a woman somewhere that wants ya. But you ain't gettin' none o' this one right here until you pick a card."

All the men at the table, and even the surrounding tables, seemed quite interested in this little game. Might not have much of one, but what she offered implied that they _did_ have a shot with her tonight, no matter how stacked against them the odds might be. But she half figured it was better than denying them altogether and risk incurring their wrath. 'Put out or get out' was what Cheyenne had said. Even some of the club whores looked like they found this little gimmick entertaining. "Go on man, pick a card," one of the other members encouraged him, nudging him under the table with his boot as Farley stared at the deck in front of him. Finally he sighed, then cut the deck and drew a card.

"Fuck," he cursed as he tossed down a 2 of Clubs, and Autumn smiled sweetly at him. 

"It's been a pleasure," she said to him and scooped up the deck, shuffling it again.

"Dammit let me try," his friend said, tapping the table like this was black jack and he wanted another card. She shuffled the deck one last time then set it down, heart racing. He cut the deck, then drew a card. He sighed, hanging his head and his friends laughed when he drew an 8 of Spades. More and more men at the table decided they wanted to try their luck, with the exception of those that already had women in their laps, who glared hatefully at the men if they so much as dared to gamble for Autumn in favor over them. But pretty soon it was a spectacle, and some people were even placing bets on a man as to whether or not he could draw the right card and get to tango with her. 

Some even placed bets on themselves to be the lucky man, slapped money on their table and walked over. Cut the deck, drew a card. But none of them drew the Queen of Hearts. Every single one of them walked away disappointed. The women looked more and more inclined to be pleased with the results, as it meant she wasn't stealing any of their men tonight. Autumn just shuffled the cards in her hands and waved them off after they picked, looking around the room. "Anyone else?" she asked, then finally she looked to Ace and his friend in the corner. "Either one o' you?" she offered, holding out the deck. Ace's friend shook his head, holding up both hands.

"Got one at home, darlin'," he said, smiling. She lifted a brow at Ace.

With an unamused stare he slowly rose from the table and sauntered over. But he didn't cut the deck when she set it down. Instead he snatched it up, and grumbled, "Get back behind that counter," and walked away with his deck of cards. Autumn chewed her lip for a second before she turned and walked away, heading back to the bar to stand and wait for someone to need a fresh beer, propping her chin in her hand as she leaned against it. She was there for a full five seconds before she heard Ace whistle loudly and glanced over at him. He waved her back over to his table. She padded over to it, arms folded, and waited for him to speak.

"Give it here," he murmured quietly, the man across from him grinning behind his hand. 

Autumn chewed her lip again. She had wondered why he didn't bother picking a card. Just assumed he wasn't interested. But obviously he was too smart for Autumn to swindle. She glanced around, and when she was certain no one was looking, she discreetly pulled the Queen of Hearts from the breastpocket of her shirt and slipped it to him so he could properly play his game of solitaire with it. Ace's friend chuckled when he saw it.

"That was pretty slick," he commented. "You might just fit right in with the rest of this bunch."

"She ain't stickin' around, Singer," Ace said to the man, as if already deciding her fate. He took a drag off his cigarette. "She's just passin' through."

Singer studied her for a moment. "That's too bad," he said, eyeing her with an appreciative smile, and Autumn wondered if the woman he had at home was half as good looking as her, the way he seemed interested, despite having a wife or girlfriend waiting for him. "Might make for a decent Pagan woman provided she learned her place."

Ace said nothing to that, just curled his lip a little as he flipped over cards, but then he murmured to Autumn, "You be careful playin' them kinda games with these men. Sooner or later, they'll pick up on what you're up to, and if they do, they'll make good and damned sure the odds are in their favor whether you like it or not." He puffed on his cigarette. "Wonchya get back to the bar and serve them drinks like I told ya to."

Autumn's stomach dropped at all that, but she nodded and left the table.

She kept her head down and her mouth shut the rest of the night.

Though she wondered what kind of odds she'd have with a man like Ace in her pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief mention of implied loss of a child.

"I think we finally found the right woman for your ugly ass," Singer quipped after Autumn walked away, making Ace glance up at him and pluck the cigarette out of his mouth again. Singer just grinned at the look of annoyance that flashed across his face for a split second before he reached for the bottle of whiskey again and took a swig before refilling Singer's shot glass. He held it up in salute before downing it. Ace just shook his head at Singer. True, she was fairly clever, and it was amusing to watch her pulling Ace's own trick and shuffling those cards for all the boys to see who'd get lucky that night, but a girl like her didn't belong in the Black Powder.

Certainly didn't belong with Ace either. No, definitely not a girl like her. Girls like her never stuck around anyway. Just as he said to Singer, she was just passing through. She was just a neat card trick that was fun to look at for now, but would become old hat before too long. "Too young," Ace grunted as he poured himself a shot, eyes on Autumn as he knocked it back. He was beyond drunk already, after being stone cold sober for so long and drinking straight liquor. Even if she was willing, he doubted he could get it up right now anyway. "She probably ain't even old enough to be in here."

"Well she's old enough to be married," Singer shrugged. Ace grunted again.

"She shouldn't have been," he said. "Married too young. Grew up too fast. Didn't take the time ta live her life before she got tied down." And he reckoned that's what her problem was. She was young and thought she was in love when she married that boy, so instead of waiting a little longer before she tied the knot, she convinced her parents to sign the papers so she could get hitched, since minors under the age of eighteen had to have parents' permission to get lawfully married. If she was even over eighteen he'd be surprised. But she needed help, and she wasn't going to get it from anyone else, so he said, "Wontchya do me a favor an' have your ol' lady find her some clothes."

Singer nodded at that. "Will do. Won't be much trouble. Reckon they're about the same size." Ace lifted a brow at that and Singer grinned. "Oh she's pretty," he nodded. "Good woman too. Got my ass spoiled. I'm lucky to have her. Surprised she'd even settle for a mangey dog like me though. Coulda done a lot better, if ya ask me."

Ace didn't comment, just finished smoking his cigarette.

The night started to wind down and slowly people started to peel off from the crowd, shaking hands with one another, stopping to shake Ace's hand and welcome him back one last time before heading through the door and searching for their bike. The rain had slacked off some, but he worried for the more sloshed of the men, knowing in all likelihood they'd wrap their bike around a tree. Most of them rode home with their old ladies though, who'd stayed mostly sober so they could drive their men home in their cars. They'd be back the next day for the bikes. Pretty soon it was just Ace, Singer, Cheyenne behind the bar, and that little girl, Autumn.

Singer said goodnight, promising to be back the next day with some clothes for Autumn so she wasn't wandering around barefoot and half dressed, and Cheyenne counted up the drawer of the register and marked her ledger. Ace didn't have to be told to know precisely what she'd do. She'd tally up how much money the bar made that night and mark it down in the book, then she'd count the tip jar to be divided equally among the women, put the money in the safe, and close up afer that. Autumn watched her for a minute before she turned and caught Ace staring at her. He just went back to his card game. He didn't notice her get up and pad her way over until she was standing right next to the table.

He looked up when she picked up the bottle of Jack and poured a shot's worth in his glass. "Ya said to keep everybody's drinks full," she commented by way of explanation. She set down the bottle and looked around. "So now what do I do?" she asked him.

"Sit down," he offered, gesturing to the empty spot Singer left behind. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cheyenne spying on them both, curling her lip disapprovingly as Autumn gingerly sat and clasped her hands together in her lap. She wasn't quite as scared of him as when she first entered the bar, but she was still wary of him across the table. He knocked back his drink, then snatched up the bottle to pour some whiskey in Singer's deserted glass and gestured to it. She stared for a second before she picked it up and to his surprise managed to swallow all of it in one gulp with no more than a grimace at the harshness of the taste. "How old are ya?" he asked, more or less out of curiosity.

"Twenty-three," she answered. He blinked in surprise. Not near as young as he initially thought. She just looked young. "How young did ya think I was?"

"Too young," he answered with a small chuckle. She almost smiled at that too. Almost, but not quite. "How'd ya end up with that boy?" he asked, pouring them each another shot and now the bottle was getting dangerously close to empty. She knocked back her glass, but Ace waited before he drank his.

"Got pregnant," she said. "I was sixteen, he was nineteen. Parents were old fashioned, thought we should be married before we had kids. So we got married. Pissed off my family though, when he moved me out here to be closer his, an' they won't even talk to either of us now. I've been stuck here ever since."

"Where's your kid?" he asked.

This time it was Autumn to reach for the bottle of whiskey, and he was content to let her, watching as she poured herself a third shot and drank it down.

"There ain't one," was all she said, staring at the table, and the silence stretched. Ace didn't comment. Autumn didn't look like she needed sympathy from the likes of him. Sympathy wouldn't bring her child back from the dead, if such was the case, but he didn't care to know, nor did he plan on asking. Wasn't any of his business anyway. He'd only been curious in the first place if she had some better reason to stay with her husband. "There ain't any chance you know someone headed to Reno, Nevada, do ya?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"That where you're parents live?"

"Well, Silver Springs, but I figured most likely if they're headed to Reno, they could drop me off on the way through. Can't think of any reason a person would wanna visit Silver Springs, but I reckon a gamblin' sort might wanna try his luck at the casinos."

He flicked his lip over his teeth at that. A westerner. Explained the accent if she wasn't a local. Maybe just picked up a heavier drawl over the last seven years. Also explained a lot of things about the woman. Western women were a world apart from southern women like Cheyenne and all the rest. Spitfires, all of them, but where women like Cheyenne might sooner bat their eyelashes and use their feminine charms on a man to pull the wool over their eyes, women like Autumn used cunning to catch them off guard. A slight of hand to give them the slip. She was the wild card in the deck.

Probably where she learned to hide that Queen of Hearts in her pocket to keep the men from cashing in on that prize. 

She might be a flighty little woman, maybe not much in a fight, but she could easily outsmart any other in this bar, aside from Ace.

Seemed like he finally met a woman of a kindred suit.

He drank his whiskey. "So ya ain't got no family," he said, picking up his cards. "Ain't got no friends...ain't got nowhere else to go but to a Pagan bar." She nodded at his words. "No car, no money, and I'm guessin' no job either," he speculated and she nodded again. "No one to look after but yourself."

"And nothin' left to lose either," she added.

He blinked slowly again.

"Two of a kind then," he commented, and this time she smiled a little. So did he. Hell, maybe Singer was right, and they were perfect for each other. Such a thought almost made him laugh at the uncanniness of it all. They'd make quite the pair, wouldn't they? A cranky old gunslinger and his clever little card trick. He snorted and reached for the bottle to pour them both a final round, holding up his glass. "To havin' nothin' worth livin' for," he toasted dryly, and after a moment she shrugged, muttering, "I'll drink to that," and picked up her glass. She clinked it with his and downed her shot. After they drank to their sorrows, Cheyenne decided to interrupt their revelry.

She'd finished counting up her money and was getting ready to close, so she wandered over to their booth in the corner, folding her arms and frowning at Autumn. "I'm closin' up now, Ace, so your little friend here is gonna have ta hit the road. I ain't havin' her stay here tonight. She can find some other hole to hide in." Ace leaned back in his seat with a sigh and gazed up at the woman. He understood where she was coming from of course. Pagans didn't tolerate freeloaders. Prospects were expected to prove themselves before they earned the privileges members had, and any women that hung around were expected to contribute somehow.

"She'll clear the tables," he said, reaching for a cigarette. Three left in the pack, sadly, and he mistakenly left the carton in Singer's old lady's car. He plucked one out of the pack anyway and lit it. "You clean this bar so Cheyenne can head on home, and you can crash on the couch in the VIP lounge tonight." Autumn nodded at that, obviously seeing it as a fair trade. He lit his cigarette and flipped closed the lighter, setting it aside. Hell, maybe Singer was right about that other thing too. Provided she put out for the men, she might make a good Pagan Lady after all. "Looks like you've got a new hire," he said to Cheyenne, who scoffed.

But she was satisfied enough with the arrangement, so she dropped the subject and leaned on the bench where he rested, hand on her hip. "So ya comin' home with me tonight, baby?" Cheyenne asked him, smirking, giving him her best bedroom eyes. "Ain't got no old man," she added. "And somebody's been away far too long and missin' the company of a good woman." Across from him Autumn made a tiny snort of a sound in the back of her throat, but cleared it to cover it up when Cheyenne glared at her. She eyed Autumn for a moment before turning back to Ace, smiling. "So whaddya say, honey? Wanna head out?"

"Not tonight, darlin'," he said, to her dismay, and she frowned. She shot Autumn a dirty look, suspecting she was the reason, but really he was just too wasted to fuck any woman. Though Cheyenne would probably be the very last on the list of options if he had his pick. But she said goodnight, adjusting her purse on her shoulder, then headed outside, using her key to lock the door behind her. Ace's eyes made their way back to the pretty little hustler in his sights. He'd love to take her to Vegas with him one of these days. Maybe make a pit stop near Reno along the way. Or maybe just ride til they ran out of gas and see where they ended up.

Autumn, who didn't fail to notice the intense look he'd given her just then, picked up the deck of cards between them. She shuffled them in her hands before stacking them neatly. He was quite certain she hadn't slipped the card up her sleeve this time, but he couldn't be sure, and he was too drunk to care. "Wanna pick a card?" she asked, and he thought about it for a second. Oh what the hell. With a shake in disbelief at himself he plucked the top half of the deck and set it aside. Then slowly with his index finger, he slid a card off the remainder and nudged it toward her. Then he sat back in his seat. She flipped it over. Ace of Diamonds.

"Well that's disappointin'," he mumbled. But then he collected the cards and said, "Your turn."

"What's the prize?"

He mulled it over for a second as he shuffled the deck, then said, "You draw the Ace o' Spades, and when I'm sober, I'll take ya to Reno with me." She sat a little straighter at that, which left him smirking as he shuffled the cards, then set them face down on the table once more. He tapped them once, then puffed on his cigarette, flicking the ashes off the cherry. Her eyes bore intently into those cards for a second before she removed the top half of the deck and flipped over a card. Jack of Hearts. He clicked his teeth with his tongue. "A damned shame," he commented. Autumn just shrugged a little, then slumped back in her seat.

Ace stamped his cigarette out and slid out of the booth. Then he walked away from Autumn, calling out, "Goodnight," as he crossed the threshold into the stairwell that led to the apartments upstairs, aiming to pass out on one of the cots they kept in the storage room for prospects that reminded him entirely too much of the inside of a prison cell, and sadly, made him feel quite at home because of that fact. 

"Goodnight, Ace," Autumn called, and judging from the sounds of glass clinking, finished his bottle of whiskey without him before cleaning up.


	7. Chapter 7

Ace woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking the next morning. He almost forgot where he was for a minute, and half expected someone to be banging their nightsick on the cell door, barking at the prisoners in the cell block to get their asses out of bed. But then he remembered he'd been released and crashed upstairs on one of the cots right there at the Black Powder. The night was still a little blurry though, and his recollection of it somewhat of a haze. He shuffled his feet to the bathroom nearby, leaned against the wall to hold himself up while he took a piss, then sauntered downstairs, rubbing his eyes.

He came down to see the bar immaculately clean, all the bar stools and chairs turned upside down on the tables and counter, the floor smelling faintly of Pinesol. There was a sizzling noise coming from the kitchen and he entered it to see a woman standing there, stirring something in a metal frying pan with a spatula. Whatever it was, it smelled good, and he blinked his eyes open wide in surprise for a second at the stranger. At some point she'd washed up in the restroom, rinsed away the dirt, then pilfered through the first aid kit to apply bandages to the cuts and abrasions on her legs. Though her hair was still a tangled mess.

The night flooded back to him, he remembered her name was Autumn, and he almost shot her husband. Damned near blew his brains out of the back of his head and all over the floor, right in front of her. She would've been a material witness to his murder. His ass might have gone back to prison - for good this time around - if the club couldn't manage to keep her quiet about it. He stared for a minute as he thought it over. "Sorry about that," he said as he ambled over to the coffee pot nearby, startling her in the process, and she jolted. He flipped the top open to peer inside the pot.

"What?" she asked.

"Almost killed your husband," he elaborated as he yanked the old filter out and tossed the used coffee grounds in the nearest garbage can. "Don't really know why I wanted to do that." He just remembered wanting him dead for some reason. But he got a woman out if it, evidently, so the night must've ended well...Oh, wait, that's right. She wasn't part of the deal. She was just stuck there for the time being. Just like him. But she'd made breakfast though. "What is that?" he asked, eyes on the pan as he put fresh coffee in a new filter and set it in the pot. Then he snatched up the urn and took it over to the sink to fill it with water.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I know Cheyenne didn't want me freeloading, and I know the food's supposed to be for customers and club members, but I didn't think she would...I mean...And I thought, well, since I made enough for two..." She glanced back at him.

He turned the knob, shutting the water off, and sauntered back over to the coffee pot. "I just meant what's in it," he clarified. He poured the water in the pot, then set the urn on the drip plate and pressed the button, hearing a mumbled, "Oh," in response. Seconds later the pot started to gurgle, and Ace edged closer to the stove to peer over her shoulder at what looked like a confection of eggs, sausage, onions, peppers, and homefries all mixed together in the pan. She didn't take too kindly to his disregard for personal space and quickly scooted out of the way. Whatever it was, it was almost done. But he wasn't sure what it was. "Looks like prison food," he grumbled, only half joking.

"Trust me it won't taste like it," she said. 

"Hmph."

He turned away from the stove to hunt for a ceramic mug and the ingredients to make his first decent cup of coffee in years, then added cream and sugar to a cup while he waited for coffee to brew, and after that watched Autumn finish cooking whatever mess that was that she called food. He scrunched his face in bewilderment at first when she turned off the stove, then laid tortilla bread on plates and lifted a bottle of Texas Pete from the fridge, briefly shaking the contents. But then he fell deeply, madly in love with the woman when she piled her egg and sausage mix onto the tortillas, doused them generously in hot sauce, then expertly rolled them into burritos.

She handed him a plate and said, "I'll bring your coffee out when it's ready."

He narrowed his eyes skeptically for a moment before taking the plate and leaving the kitchen. He didn't rightly trust someone else touching his cup of coffee, but reckoned he didn't have much to miss out on if she poisoned him, so he set the plate down on a table, lifted a chair and set it upright, parking his ass on the seat. About a minute later he heard the coffee pot beep, then a minute after that he saw Autumn sweep into the room, holding her own plate and his coffee. She set it down first, then the plate so she could upend the chair across from his and slid her plate closer. 

He stared a minute longer, waiting for her to take a bite of her own burrito before he tasted his, just in case she poisoned that too. It was a hell of a lot better than that soggy shit the bartender whipped up for him the night before. He remembered that too, suddenly. That bitch of a woman feeding him something that tasted like the ass end of a dog. Autumn's cooking, on the other hand, made him think of his mother's homecooked meals. She threw hot sauce on damned near everything she made too. They ate in silence for a time, Ace practically inhaling his food before daringly taking a sip of his coffee.

Then she asked, "Was ya really gonna take me to Reno if I drew the Ace of Spades?"

He blinked again at that, trying to remember it, but he assumed that if he said it, then he'd do it. He never made promises he didn't intend to keep. "Yep," he said, then took another bite of his burrito. Autumn's mouth hung open for a second.

"I thought you were just jokin' about that," she said.

He swallowed his bite. "If I say I'm gonna do somethin' then that's what I'm gonna do," he told her.

"I thought you were just drunk. Kiddin' around or somethin'. You really woulda done that?"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am."

She eyed him disbelievingly. "Get outta town," she quipped.

"You don't think I woulda done that. A man once bet me I wouldn't whip out my pistol and discharge it in a Wal-Mart parking lot, an' I sure as hell did that."

"So he lost that bet." Ace nodded again. "Did he pay ya what he owed ya?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Cause he's dead."

Autumn paused before taking another bite of her burrito and furrowed her brow, thinking. Then she slowly put it down, staring at her plate. She thought for a minute more before comprising, "It was in the middle of the night, the parking lot was empty, and he bet you wouldn't shoot him, didn't he?" Ace neglected to confirm or deny that, taking a bite of his food and chewing. He didn't like that this girl connected dots so quickly like that. It was probably just an assumption on her part, but she was entirely too clever for her own damned good, and suddenly it wasn't quite so much fun like he remembered it being last night. Just disturbing.

He licked the sauce off his fingers after he swallowed his bite, then said, "The cops never found the body, and they have no idea who did it."

She kept her eyes on her plate. Didn't say a word, but he could imagine what she was thinking. They didn't know, but he did. However, to Ace's utter confoundment, Autumn didn't get up from the table and run for dear life. Poor woman really was desperate, with no where else to turn, if his questionable activities didn't run her off. Or maybe she figured that between the two evils, him or her husband, Ace was the lesser in her eyes. She would be terribly wrong about that, if she knew the half of it. Eventually she picked her food back up and finished eating, changing the subject entirely. 

"Did ya also mean what ya said about me workin' here?"

"Hmm?"

"You told Cheyenne I was a new hire. Did ya mean I can keep workin' here like I did last night?"

"Why? Ya got somethin' better to do with your time?"

"No."

"Then yeah."

She chewed her lip, then tentatively asked, "How do I earn money?"

He swallowed the last bite of his burrito and reached for a napkin to wipe his hands, then sat back in his seat, studying her features. The one thing she wasn't inclined to do for just any man. As long as she served their drinks, cleaned the tables and swept the floors, she'd have a place to crash every night, and Ace would see that she was clothed and fed, but if she wanted cash-in-hand, she would have to do what every other woman in the Black Powder did to earn a cut of that tip jar at the end of the night, and Ace wasn't inclined to let the girl in on the Ladies' money making schemes just yet. 

"Get a payin' job," he recommended, sipping his coffee.

Her face flattened. "I can't. Ain't no place gonna hire me without my high school diploma."

"Got your G.E.D.?"

"No. Casey wouldn't pay for the classes. Said what do I need a job for since he was takin' care of us both. I reckon he just didn't want me havin' my own money so I couldn't leave him."

Made sense. Ace inhaled through his nose, then patted down his vest before realizing he'd left his cigarette pack downstairs. He looked around the room but didn't see them anywhere. "You seen my cigarettes?" he asked, and she nodded. She got up from the table and walked behind the counter to retrieve them, having stored them on a shelf for safe keeping. She handed him the near empty pack of Marlboros and his lighter, then sat back down. "Much obliged," he mumbled before lighting one up. Then he sighed. "You just keep this bar clean an' keep servin' them drinks, and the club'll look after ya," he suggested, tugging the squeaky clean ashtray closer to him. 

"But how am I supposed to make any cash?"

"You won't need it."

"Then how in the hell am I ever supposed to get out of here?"

He stared, puffing on his cigarette. "You won't."

Now she was beyond frustrated and just starting to get irritated at him, wrinkling that little button nose of hers in a scowl. "Ya tryna hold me hostage here or somethin'?" she asked, and he slowly shook his head. 

"You can walk out that door any time ya want to, Card Trick. Ain't nobody gonna stop ya."

She huffed a breath through her nose. "Look, there's gotta be somethin' I can do around here that'll earn cash besides just bein' a whore," she said, putting two and two together without him even saying so. 

He took another long drag off his cigarette and said, "That's just how it is. Take it or leave it, princess. But that's the deal if ya stick around. Otherwise, don't let the door hit ya."

She sucked in another breath and let it out slow. "Reno?" she said, with questioning, and he gathered her meaning.

He shrugged and said, "Alright."

She got up and fetched his deck of cards, having set it on the shelf alongside his cigarettes. She brought the deck over, still inside the box and set it in front of him, then slid their plates out of the way so that he could shuffle the deck, cigarette pinched between his lips. He squinted when smoke got in his eyes and waved it out of his face. Then he set down the deck and tapped it once. She cut the deck and drew a card. With a desperate look in her eye she flipped it over, but then sighed dejectedly and leaned back in her seat with a frown after throwing down a 6 of Hearts. No Ace of Spades. No Reno then. She stared at Ace for a moment longer.

"Wanna put some money on it?" he asked, and she quirked a brow in confusion. So he leaned forward in his seat, taking one last hit from his cigarette before palcing it in the ashtray, rubbing his hands together. "Shuffle the deck, Card Trick," he said, so she did that. Then she set it on the table and folded both arms over her chest. "Queen of Hearts?" he asked, recalling that was the card he needed to pick up. She shifted in her seat, scratching her head, but she nodded. He bit the corner of his lip, wondering if he'd get it this time, and cut the deck. Then slowly slid a card off the pile. This time he was the one to slowly flip it over.

10 of Spades.

He shrugged, tossing the card back on the table, then plucked his cigarette from the ashtray. "No cash," he said. She shifted restlessly again, and he could tell by her movement that she tapped her ankle under the table. Perhaps debating on whether or not to make the offer anyway, to take him to that back room and fuck his brains out, just to make a little money. But he would never find out if that were so. At that moment, a bike could be heard pulling into the parking lot, the loud rumble of the engine catching their attention. Autumn started to get up, like she meant to check to see who was pulling in, but his paranoia had him saying, "Stay right there."

He got up in her stead and peered through the front glass, to see Singer rolling up on his Harley.

It was just Singer, but...

Singer wasn't what set his blood boiling, but the sight of the woman on the back seat was what did it.

"Fuckin' hell," he cursed. "What the fuck Singer! What the fuck is my baby sister doin' on the back of that fuckin' bike?! You miserable son of a bitch!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vanessa's Faceclaim (Adrianne Palicki)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/50fb8eefb8b4559a2714c30d88c94399/a941ccbd490371ba-fe/s400x600/937ac931c8e77a0b484c8364b52623bf3518359a.jpg)

From the moment she woke up and rolled off the couch in the VIP lounge, Autumn had been on edge. Wondering from one second to the next if she could trust Ace, if he wouldn't flip out on her, have some kind of psychotic break, or decide that since he was nice enough to let her stay at the bar that it somehow meant he had special 'privileges' with her, and drag her upstairs. He did nothing of the sort, but his quiet demeanor and deepset frown were disturbing. Even when he was being sarcastic, he rarely smiled, and it made her wonder just how long he'd been locked up for, and whether or not he'd been institutionalized.

But she didn't expect him to take his rage out on Singer of all people, who throughout the night seemed like a very close friend, or even a brother to Ace, and was one of few Ace actually spoke to for any lengthy amount of time. But as he pulled in on his motorcycle, with presumably Ace's younger sister on the back, he proceeded to flip out, screaming and cursing, a murderous look in his eyes. "Goddamn it Singer!" he raged, pacing back and forth in the bar, staring out the window as they climbed off and fetched plastic grocery bags full of items from both saddlebags on the back of the bike. Autumn blanched when he pulled his pistol and looked to be seconds from bursting through the front door in a blaze of gunfire.

But then he cursed again and holstered his pistol beneath his vest once more, like he thought better of the notion, and continued pacing. Then he changed his mind again and whipped it out, cursed himself then put it away, obviously dealing with some internal issues here. It would've been comical, the way he'd repeatedly pull it out then change his mind and put it away, if not for the look on his face telling Autumn he was genuinely fighting the urge to use it on someone. "Fuck. Fuck!" he cursed again, scratching his head with the barrel of the gun as he stared out the window, then finally he holstered it again and marched back over to the table.

He walked over and peeled out of his vest, laying it neatly on the back of the chair, then slid off the holster containing his pistol, and set it on the seat. Only when he was unarmed did he turn and stomp his way back across the bar, unlock the front door, and burst out of it, barking at Singer, leaving his gun behind so he wouldn't be tempted to use it on the man. "You lyin' son of a bitch!" He raged at Singer, who backed up and raised both hands defensively. Autumn got up and peered through the glass to spectate. Now she could see why he was so enraged. His sister didn't look much older than Autumn herself. 

But she was pretty though, so it made sense as to why Singer would hook up with her while her brother was in prison and couldn't physically stop him. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy man!" Singer voiced, as Ace stalked over to him, fists clenched and every muscle of his frame tensed as if in preparation for a fight, Ace himself more than ready to brawl. He ignored Singer's words and raged, "You married my baby sister?!" For a brief moment Autumn wondered if she should get involved, but thought better of the notion and folded both arms, shifting about restlessly in nervousness as she watched from inside the bar. "You lyin' fuckin' bastard!"

"I meant to tell ya sooner-" Singer started to say, when Ace lunged at him with a snarl, tackling him to the pavement.

"Ace stop!" the woman barked, as the two men wrestled for a moment on the ground. Singer more or less just trying to pin Ace somehow and keep his fists from flying, but Ace on the other hand looked like he was genuinely trying to beat Singer to death. He managed to get in one swing before Singer twisted around and pinned him on the ground, but between the two, Ace was the more talented fighter and soon enough had Singer pinned again. "Goddamn it Ace, let him go!" his sister shouted. "Now you stop this nonsense right now! I am a grown ass woman now, Ace, and I can marry whoever the hell I want to!" 

"Like hell you can!" He gritted out as Singer held him back. "I told you to stay the fuck away from this bar!"

"You can't tell me what to do, Ace, and if I wanna be somebody's ol' lady, then I'm gonna do it!"

He snarled again, but this time turning back to Singer and growling, "An' your ass was supposed to keep her out of club business! I told you not to let her get involved with it!"

"He weren't the boss o' me either, Ace!" his sister contested. Autumn wanted to applaud the woman. For one, she stood up for herself, and two, despite his animosity, his sister didn't shriek away in fright or burst into tears. She could tell they were related, even though they looked nothing alike, especially when she bravely dove in and curled her arms around his neck, putting him in a choke hold and yanking him off of Singer. She wrapped her legs around him next and held him in a full body chokehold, squeezing the life out of him. "Now you stop this nonsense right now, Ace," she strained, "Or I'm gonna stick your ass like a fuckin' pig."

Face turning red and straining to breathe, Ace thought it over for a moment before reaching up to tap out, nodded his head in relent, and she released him. He tore away from both of them and paced the parking lot for a moment, trying to calm down. Still looking extremely pissed about the whole thing, but not so much like he was going to put his hands on Singer. It suddenly clicked in Autumn's mind why he was so pissed about it though. His sister wore a denim vest not unlike theirs, even had her name stitched into the fabric. Vanessa. But instead of having club member patches on the back of it, it had a single patch that said P.O. Singer. One above the breastpocket too.

She didn't know what that meant, but it was just like some of the women at the bar that previous night. She was a Pagan woman. Not just Singer's wife, but Singer's Ol Lady too, and she did what every other Lady at the bar did. She fucked Pagans for a cut of the money from the "Tip" jar. Essentially she was a whore, in not so many words. Ace was not too pleased with that, it seemed. _What a hypocrite_ , she thought to herself. Was perfectly content to live in a bar and belong to a club that objectified women and treated them like cattle, yet wanted to complain when the woman being objectified was his little sister. Autumn drummed her fingers on her arm before opening the door.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but..." She started, catching their attention. Singer got to his feet and brushed himself off, Vanessa folded her arms and eyed Autumn appraisingly, and Ace seemed to snap out of it for a moment, standing there and scratching his head. "Your coffee's gettin' cold," she told him. He gave a small half nod at that and glanced around the empty parking lot and the highway beyond, as if sensing how narrowly he escaped ending up in the back of a police car just now. At any point, cars could have driven by and witnessed the fight, then notified the police. He got that shifty paranoid look on his face again that seemed to be a mainstay for him.

Like maybe he felt like he was being watched, the way his eyes would narrow in suspicion and dart around. From Autumn's perspective, it looked like either he was clinically insane, or spent a really long time behind bars. But he nodded again, almost to himself, and turned to face her once more. Then he thought to introduce her. "Trick, meet Vanessa. Vanessa, this here's Trick." Oh dear lord she had a nickname now. Not the best of names either. She sulked when she heard it. He kept calling her Card Trick, but when he shortened it like that, it made her sound like a street-walker, turning tricks for cash. Vanessa snorted at the name. 

"Trick?" she chuckled. 

"Yeah, she's a lap dancer from Reno," Ace quipped sarcastically, with absolutely no humor whatsoever, almost like he was being serious, then stalked past her, ushering Autumn into the bar.

Venessa and Singer both just chuckled and shook their heads at his back, then turned to pick up their cargo. Autumn followed Ace inside the bar and picked up their empty plates to take them to the kitchen, stacking one on top the other along with the used napkins, muttering, "Lap dancer?" at Ace, who shrugged a shoulder, following her to the kitchen to reheat his coffee in the microwave nearby. She set their empty plates in the sink and turned to face him, folding her arms. "I mean no offence when I say this but...well, you're just kind of an asshole, aintchya?" 

He turned to look at her for a second, then glanced up at the ceiling as he contemplated that, but then all he had to say was:

"Yep, reckon I am, I suppose."

She huffed at that. She didn't dare say anything about what just happened outside between him and Singer, but she had so many questions for the man. Though there was only one she was brave enough to ask. "Is that really your sister?"

"Half-sister," he said. "We've got the same mother."

"Ya don't look anything alike."

"That's probably a good thing."

The microwave beeped and he removed his coffee, then carried it back to the front room, resuming his seat at the table. He was still visibly irritated with Singer as he glared up at him before lighting another cigarette. Autumn felt like such an interloper standing there and listening in while Ace talked with his sister and her husband, so instead of taking her seat across from his she stood behind the counter nearby and leaned against it, like she just worked there, propped her elbows on the surface and twiddled her thumbs. They set plastic bags on the table, and Singer plopped an open carton of Marlboros in front of Ace.

"Ya left that in Vanessa's car."

"Thank you," Ace mumbled. But then he got frustrated again and said, "Goddamn it, why'd it have to be him, huh?" Vanessa rolled her eyes at him. "Of all the men to marry, it had to be this asshole?"

Singer just snorted at the insult. "You should be glad it's me and not somebody worse."

"Can't think of anybody worse."

"Yeah, well, I have been influenced by you over the years so what's that tell ya?"

"That I shoulda let Percy stab ya that night."

"Fuck you, he was tryna kill you too, if I recall. Ya weren't doin' me no favors."

"Lettin' you walk outta here still breathin' is a favor."

"Oh will both of you just fuckin' quit it?" Vanessa huffed. "Look, Ace, I love him, I wanna be with him, I'm married to him now, and nothin' you say is gonna change that. So ya may as well just get over it, startin' right now."

Ace grumbled at that. He puffed on his cigarette with an angry glare for a moment before he picked through the plastic bags on the table, untying them and peaking inside. "So how'd it happen then?" he asked, cigarette pinched between his lips. Inside the first bag he opened was a cellphone and charger, soap, razors and shaving cream, a pack of mens underwear and socks, which gave Autumn the impression this was a care package for Ace. There was a second bag with a couple of shirts and a new pair of jeans. As he poked around, Vanessa said, "You remember Wendall?" Ace nodded. 

"Yeah well I moved in with him," she explained, this Wendall obviously being her ex boyfriend. "And that turned to shit, one night we got in a big fight, he threw me out, and I needed a place to stay. Your ass was locked up, so I called up Singer and he let me stay with him." She chuckled. "Then one night we got drunk off a bottle o' Kentucky bourbon and-"

Ace held up a hand. "I get the picture."

"He takes good care o' me Ace."

Ace sighed. "But...Singer? Really?"

Both Singer and his wife rolled their eyes.

"Oh you have no room to judge!" Vanessa huffed. "Wanna explain what the hell you're doin' with her?" She gestured to Autumn, who blinked in surprise. "She's half your fuckin' age!"

"I ain't with her," Ace contested. "I'm just keepin' an eye on her."

"He's right," Autumn finally spoke up. "I just...ain't got nowhere else to go."

Vanessa sighed. "Well, don't you worry, baby doll," she said to her. "Singer explained everything last night. That husband o' yours sounds like a real piece o' work. The Ladies are gonna do what they can for ya. Here, come over here for a sec, let's see if these clothes are gonna fit." This perked Autumn's interest and she walked around the counter to see that the second bag was filled with feminine products and women's clothing, items meant for Autumn. Soap, a pack of razors, shampoo, conditioner, face wash, tampons, a small supply of beauty products, and a brush. On top of that were two outfits' worth of shirts, pants, bras, socks and underwear. 

Ace was right, she wouldn't need cash if she stayed there. "Thank you," she told Vanessa. 

"Ain't no need ta thank me, honey," she said, smiling. "Every one of us has been in your shoes at some point. Us girls gotta look out for each other." Autumn managed a smile at that. She liked Ace's sister a helluva lot more than Cheyenne. "Alright, you take those upstairs and get cleaned up-"

"She ain't stayin' upstairs," Ace interrupted.

"And why the hell ain't she?" Vanessa didn't wait for him to respond before she said, "Ya made her sleep downstairs on the couch, now didn't ya? Ace, you rotten fuckin' man! There are beds upstairs! I swear, you are the rudest man to ever fuckin' exist! If momma was alive ta hear this..." She fumed for a second longer before reaching in one of the bags and pulling out a key. She tossed it to Autumn. "It's apartment C. You just go on through the VIP room, take the stairs, and it's the last door to the left. Water in the shower takes a minute to heat up, so don't worry if ain't hot right away. Oh and the knobs are backwards. Hot is cold. Cold is hot."

"Thank you," Autumn nodded again, then picked up the bag on the table full of feminine items to take with her upstairs.

"Oh, what size shoe do ya wear?" Vanessa called.

"Uh, seven?"

"Alright, I'll see if one of the Ladies is a size seven."

"Thanks."

Autumn left Ace with his friend and sister, then made her way to the upstairs of the bar, searching for apartment C and a hot shower.


	9. Chapter 9

"You're an asshole," Singer grumbled as he flopped down in the empty chair across from Ace, icing his left eye where Ace managed to get a swing in during their scuffle. 

"So I've heard," Ace quipped, picking up the deck of cards on the table and flipping through the deck, sorting the cards by suit. Hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs. Vanessa just shook her head at her brother as she stood there.

"Well looks like you ain't changed after all," she said to him, to which he snorted.

"I have so," he said. "Your husband's still breathin'."

"You wouldn't seriously kill your best friend for that," she denied, but Singer laughed dismally.

"Yeah he would," he told her. "Over you? Better believe he would."

Vanessa just shook her head over the ridiculousness of it all as she watched the two men at the table. Singer holding ice to his face, looking repentant, and Ace flipping cards over with a scowl. Truthfully, she'd noticed a difference in him though. Couldn't put her finger on what it was, but just like Singer had mentioned last night, there was something off about Ace. Singer had rolled in drunk and told her all about what happened that night before he passed out. How Ace seemed mistrusting of all the new faces, then how he'd snapped and went off on that girl's husband, sat him down at a table and drew his pistol on him, made him pick a card. Put the fear of God in his ass.

Ace had always been a wild card in the deck, and was always a loose cannon. Had a temper just like his father, and when he saw something he didn't like, he never just stood around and watched it happen. He got involved. When Vanessa's father was abusing their mother, he never just sat back and let it happen. He'd get in knock down drag out fights with the man over Linda Hodgkins. Hell he'd get in fights with just about anyone if he didn't like the way they looked, and back before he was locked up, the club would've let him do just about anything and get away with it too. Everything was different after he joined, but Ace always remained the same deep down inside.

That was just the kind of man Ace had always been. But there was something different about him now, and that girl being there at the bar was an interesting development too. Especially the odd way he behaved around her. Like she was a nuisance, even though he'd gone out of his way to take up for her.

Vanessa would've thought that after being gone for ten years, Ace would've leapt at the chance to get his hands on such a pretty girl like her, would be sweet to her, cozy up to her, do anything he had to in order to get in her pants. Vanessa had seen how her brother was with other women in the past, and usually he was a smooth talking devil with them all. Generous too. He always made sure his women were taken care of. Even if he never settled down with them, the ones he fucked around with were always provided for, and treated like gold. But for some reason, he acted cold and distant toward the little girl he nicknamed Trick.

But what confused her more was how guarded and mistrusting she seemed as well. Like a tiny, button nosed female version of Ace. Like she didn't trust any of them to not be pulling the wool over her eyes, though she seemed very grateful for the clothes and feminine products Vanessa brought her. She didn't know if it was something Ace said or did, or something else, but little Trick looked like a girl in trouble of some kind, and Vanessa took in upon herself to try to help the girl somehow. She'd been in her position before, with no place to go and no one to depend on, and if not for Singer, she'd still be stuck in that rut.

She thought about it as she watched Ace flip cards.

When he got to the Ace of Spades, instead of putting it in the correct pile, he slipped it in the breastpocket of his vest. "What did you do that for?" Singer asked him.

"Insurance," he mumbled, then collected all the cards, like that had been his sole intention of sorting them, just to find that card. Vanessa was just about to ask about that, when Ace leaned back in his seat and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth to say to her, "I need you to find her a payin' job." Alright, now there was the Ace she remembered. So he really was trying to look out for her. Just didn't have any interest in sleeping with her. "She ain't got no money right now, and she needs it. She never graduated, so it'll have to be somethin' under the table. Somethin' that pays cash, until she can find somethin' better."

Nothing immediate came to mind, but Vanessa said, "If I hear of anybody that's got work, I'll let ya know."

"Thank you."

Singer set his ice on the table and folded his arms over it. "So what's the deal with that man of hers?" he asked. "Did ya find out why she was runnin' from him?"

Ace just stared, puffing on his cigarette, then said, "Why do you think?" 

Judging by his dour expression, it was something bad. Vanessa guessed it was more than just some lovers quarrel, and most likely he'd been abusive to her. Meaning she needed more than just help from the club, maybe she needed their protection too. Somehow she had gotten herself in a situation where there was no one else around that she could trust, or depend on, maybe her husband had alienated her from her friends and family, coerced her or even threatened her, and maybe the police had already been involved but wouldn't lift a finger to help her either, and she had nowhere else to go.

Vanessa had seen it before. Women that would stay with their abusive husbands and make excuses for their behavior not because they were deluded into thinking they loved them, but simply beause they had nowhere else to turn. If she didn't have a job, any money of her own, or a means of transportation, it would be very easy to hold her prisoner in her own home. No wonder she was so guarded around them, and after seeing Ace pull his pistol on her husband, maybe she thought Ace was just as bad as her old man. Hell, maybe he was. He was different now than Vanessa remembered him. But maybe the situation wasn't what she thought it was at all.

"The Prez is back in town," Singer said to Ace, chenaging the subject. "Invited us to his house for lunch today. He's lookin' forward to seein' ya." 

Ace nodded at all that, but didn't look like the feeling was mutual. From what Singer had told Vanessa, there was an old grudge of some kind between Ace and the new club President. He never went into details, because that was club business and Ladies aren't allowed to know what is discussed during club meetings, but he mentioned there was a rift between them. Years ago, they'd both been Enforcers for the club together, but the Prez got promoted, and Ace didn't. That was all she knew. As far as she was concerned, it didn't rightly matter, because she'd never cared much for the man anyway.

Singer smiled and added, "We can bring that little girl with us. I'm sure she'd like to-"

"She doesn't leave this bar," Ace interrupted, his words a finality. "Long as she stays here, she don't go anywhere with anyone unless I say so."

"Oh come on now," Singer sighed. "The last thing that girl needs is to trade one jailer for another. Just 'cause you'd rather be a recluse and keep to yourself nowadays, don't mean she'll want to."

"She don't need to be around members unless she's servin' their drinks, Singer."

Singer rolled his eyes. "I aint tryin' to drag her into club affairs or turn her ass into a Lady, Ace. Just thought it would be nice if she joined us for lunch."

"We can always ask her," Vanessa said. "It's her life, and you ain't her old man, Ace. You ain't the boss of her." 

Ace shot her a glare, though she didn't know what she'd done to earn such a cold look. But he certainly looked irritated. He was probably pissed because he needed to go play nice with the President now that he was back, but she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter much anyway when they heard a car pull in outside, and Vanessa, her husband and brother all turned to see it was a city police car. "Shit," Singer cursed. "Whaddya wanna bet that little bitch boy of hers called the law on ya," he said to Ace, who cursed as well, then got up to hide his pistol behind the counter before the cop saw him with it. 

City cops didn't have any jurisdiction there, and normally the Sheriff's Department or the state police were the ones that came calling, but he could still arrest Ace for concealing a deadly weapon. He was snubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray when the officer came to the door and knocked. The doors were locked, the bar wasn't open yet, and technically they didn't have to let him in without a warrant, but Ace decided to be cordial and strode over to the door to let him in, probably to give him the impression they didn't have anything to hide. The Pagans weren't supposed to be criminals anymore, just former criminals, but not law breakers.

"Mornin' officer," he grumbled after unlocking the door and opening it. "There a problem?"

"Not as of yet," he said as he walked inside. The first thing he noticed was Singer's eye. "What happened to him?"

"My dumb ass tripped and hit my head off the counter when I first walked in," Singer chuckled. The cop just lifted a brow.

"Is there somethin' we can do for ya?" Ace asked him.

"I hope so. I'm looking for young woman named Autumn Bixby. Married name is Florence. Need to ask her some questions about an incident that happened last night in this establishment." He glanced at Vanessa as if expecting her to be the woman in question, meaning he didn't have a photo of her. "This her?"

"No she's upstairs," Vanessa said. "What do you want with her?"

"She under arrest?" Singer asked. The officer, whos uniform said Corbin, shook his head.

"No she's not under arrest. Just need to ask her some questions."

Ace regarded the police officer suspiciously for a moment. "City police don't have no jurisdiction this far outside city limits," he reminded. "It's the Sheriff's problem. What's a city cop doin' out here?"

"Well I can't say," he answered. "That information is for Autumn and city police department."

"Well if your ass ain't got no warrant, then perhaps it would be best to come by when ya have one."

"She's not under arrest," the officer repeated. "I just need to take her down to the station and ask her some questions. No one is being charged with anything just yet, and no one's bein' accused of anything either, at least at this time. Just need to talk to her is all."

Vanessa didn't trust that. He wasn't trying to arrest Ace or any of them, but he wasn't giving them any information either, which gave her a bad feeling about this. Maybe the officer truly didn't know what was going on either, and only knew he needed to get a statement from the girl, Autumn, about what happened, since she was an eyewitness, because obviously a police report was filed, but it seemed too suspicious that no one was accusing Ace of anything. Unless her husband had been the one to be arrested. Maybe one of the customers suspected he'd been abusing her and called the cops, and he'd been picked up after he left the bar. But why wouldn't the officer just say so?

"I'll go upstairs and get her," Vanessa offered.

"Much appreciated ma'am," said the officer, tipping his cap to her.

She shot him a backwards glance before heading across the bar.


	10. Chapter 10

Autumn had just finished her shower and was dressing when Vanessa knocked on the apartment door, so she quickly shrugged into a pair of tight boot cut jeans and threw on a top, then opened the door, brushing her hair. "There's a cop downstairs," Vanessa told her, and she paused in brushing. "He's wantin' to talk ya about what happened last night." She swallowed nervously at that, and set the brush on the coffee table. The apartment was cramped and the kitchen was seriously outdated, but all in all it was a nice living space, though the couch downstairs was a lot nicer than this one.

"I ain't gonna squeal to the cops about what your brother did," she swore. "As far as I saw, Ace just ran him off, but I didn't see no gun."

"Well that's very nice of you," Vanessa commended, "But that ain't what it's about. They ain't tryna arrest him. Just wanted to talk to ya."

"About what?"

"He didn't say."

Well, that sounded suspicious. "You sure he's a cop?" Autumn asked. Vanessa nodded.

"City police. Don't normally get city cops out here, but I've seen him around town in his patrol car."

"City police?" Autumn repeated, stomach flipping.

Casey's family had friends in the City Police Department. It would make sense as to why he would go to them to press charges instead of calling the Sheriff's Department even though they were usually the ones to respond to emergency calls outside city limits. Casey probably drove down there that morning and filed charges of some kind, and now they wanted to question her about it. A terrible feeling settled in het gut. "Look," Vanessa started, catching her attention, "Whatever they say to you, just don't mention anything about the club, alright? You didn't see nothin', you didn't hear nothin', and you don't know nothin'." 

Autumn nodded at all that, then let Vanessa take her by the hand and lead her back downstairs. "It's gonna be alright," Vanessa assured. She didn't know if she could trust this woman not to throw Autumn to the wolves in interest of protecting her brother, but Autumn was willing to do just about anything to keep from having to go back to her husband. Even lying to the cops. Her heart pounded heavily in her ears and her hands shook the whole way across the hall and down the stairs that lead to the VIP room, then across the threshold and into the bar. It got harder and harder to breathe as she went along, and she knew this was what they called having a panic attack. 

She squeezed the fabric of her jeans tightly when she saw the cop. Officer Corbin. She didn't know him, had never seen him, nor had any idea if he was one of the friends of Casey's parents, but it said city police on his black uniform. He was not a state policeman, nor a deputy. Her legs started to feel wobbly the closer she got, but she tried to remain calm and collected. If he suspected her fearful reaction was because she was afraid of Vanessa or her brother, he might use that as an excuse to call in back-up for a hostage situation, thinking they were holding her against her will, and they'd take her straight back to her husband. 

"Mrs. Florence?" The officer addressed, and she nodded. "I'm gonna need you to come down to the station with me so the department can ask you some questions."

"What's this about?" she asked him.

"It's about your husband, ma'am."

"Well what about him?"

"It's about what happened here last night."

"Well why can't ya just ask me right now? Anything ya wanna know, I'll tell ya."

The cop glanced at Singer, Vanessa, and Ace, then said, "I'm gonna need you to come down to the station to write out a full statement."

"Am I bein' arrested?"

"No ma'am, we just need a statement from you. Your husband stated you were a witness to what happened. We need your recollection of events to add to the report."

"What report?"

"Look, if you could just come with me, Mrs. Florence, and we'll get this all sorted out at the station."

Now Autumn was doubly suspicious, especially at the way he kept glancing at the others and dodging her questions. "Look if I aint bein' arrested, I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm within my rights to do that."

Finally the cop sighed, edged closer, then said, "Ma'am, your husband is at the police station and he's very worried about you, so if you just come with me, right now, so we can get you back to your husband." Instinctively Autumn backed away. She understood exactly what was happening. The officer was trying to passively remove her from the bar before the situation escalated. That was why he had his hand resting on the pistol at his side, and was eyeing the others suspiciously as well as glancing around the bar. He was casing the environment. Casey probably told the cops they were holding her hostage in the Black Powder. 

"If you could just come with me, ma'am," he said again, reaching for her arm.

In a panic, Autumn wrenched her arm away from the cop, backing away frightfully and starting to tear up. No, she couldn't go back there again. She just couldn't. She'd rather stay right there with Ace than go anywhere near Casey. She knew what would happen. Casey had probably given the cops some sob story about being chased out of the bar and forced to leave his wife inside, how he missed her and loved her and just hoped she was okay, how he just wanted to get her back, and if she left with this cop, she knew what Casey would do. He'd apologize to her, tell her he was so sorry for upsetting her, that he'd never do it again, that he loved her and would never hurt her.

But it would all be lies just so he could get her back to the house and she couldn't leave him again. Everything would be fine for awhile, but sooner or later the nightmare would start over again, the cycle would just continue, and she would never be free of him. Autumn was tired of being a prisoner in her own home, so she burst into sobs, shaking her head, saying, "No! No I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go back to him! Please don't make me go back to him! Please don't-" She backed into whoever was standing directly behind her, which just so happened to be Ace, and desperately threw her arms around him, begging, "Please don't make me go."

Suddenly, she didn't rightly care just then what he'd done in the past, who he was, what he did time for, or whether or not he was even a criminal or a gang member, all she cared to know was that last night, that semi-automatic pistol he'd pointed in her husband's face was what rescued her from the seven year nightmare of a marriege she'd endured and she'd do anything - _anything_ \- to not have to go back. Including but not limited to getting on her hands and knees and begging for her life. She was so tired of being trapped in that house with Casey Florence, she'd even be willing to pimp herself out for money if it meant not having to depend on him anymore.

She squeezed Ace tightly, who wrapped his arms around her, and stroked her hair while Vanessa squeezed her shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, baby doll, ain't nobody here's gonna make you go back to that man." Then she said to the cop, "Look, officer, I don't know what kinda lies that man told you, but you can see for yourself she don't want nothin' to do with him."

"Yeah I can see that," he mumbled. 

Autumn heard a sound coming from his radio as he turned it on. 

"Never mind on that," he said into the radio. Then he sighed and said, "Look, I'll be honest I had my suspicions from the start. We've had run-ins with that boy in the past. He's been brought in on domestic related charges through the state police, and I'm assuming witnesses have lied for him. I just had to see for myself that she's safe. He came in this morning reporting that she'd been kidnapped by members of this establishment, but clearly she's here of her own free will." There was a pause. "Tell ya what I can do, I can take her down to the courthouse and she can file a restraining order against him, and we'll see that the state picks up a domestic case against him."

Finally Autumn brought herself to speak and sniffed, "Won't matter. I can't stay in that house. It belongs to his parents. They bought it for us when we moved down here and the deed's in their name. They can kick me out anytime they want to."

"You got any friends or family you can stay with?"

"They're in Nevada."

"Maybe we can get you to a shelter then-"

"I aint leavin' this bar," she snapped, trembling, feeling Ace squeeze her tightly like he shared the sentiment, and might sooner kill a cop than let her leave. 

Vanessa piped up with, "She can stay here as long as she needs to. There's an apartment upstairs. We'll have someone stop by the house to pick up her stuff."

The officer sighed. "Alright then. Might I suggest, it would be in her best interest to still file a restraining order, and maybe for divorce too."

"We'll take care of that," Vanessa agreed. 

Another pause, then, "Alright then. You folks have a nice day, and sorry for the misunderstanding."

"Thank you officer."

She heard the cop turn and walk back across the bar, then out the front door and to his police car. It was only then that she realized she was still clinging to Ace like her life depended on it. "I just knew there was somethin' fishy about that whole thing," Singer commented nearby. "They thought we was holdin' her prisoner here or somethin'." Then he chuckled. "That's why he didn't wanna say what it was about, 'cause he didn't wanna tip us off, in case we planned on makin' a break for it or somethin'." 

"They aint gonna do nothin'," Autumn said. "They ain't gonna help me. Casey's parents have friends in the city police. They aint gonna press no charges."

Singer huffed. "Fuckin' pigs," he grumbled. "Ain't good for nothin' in this fuckin' town."

All the while Singer commented on the situation, Autumn could feel Ace continuously stroke her hair in a soothing manner, and now that she was starting to calm down, it made her uncomfortable. She pulled away and rubbed her eyes, repeatedly sniffing to clear her sinuses. "Sorry," she mumbled, though she wasn't even sure what she was sorry about. Maybe just for causing them trouble in the first place. 

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for," Ace murmured as he dropped his arms, then turned back to the table, snatching up his cigarettes. She shifted about awkwardly for a moment, wondering whether or not she caused the pensive look he had just then.

"Well now I get why ya didn't want her leavin' the clubhouse," Singer said to Ace, though Autumn had no idea why Ace had said that. She'd missed that conversation while she was showering. Ace just nodded and puffed on his cigarette, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Reckon it's about time we get this over with," he commented, stuffing a full pack of cigarettes in his pocket, along with his lighter. Singer nodded at that. Ace threw his vest back on, then fished in his pocket for his bike key. "Ness, you stay here with Autumn. I'm gonna leave you my pistol. If anybody comes pokin' around that ain't a deputy or a member, fire a warnin' shot. If it's her husband?...Kill his ass." Autumn blinked at such sternly spoken words, but made no comment. "We'll be back later," he said to her, then ushered Singer out of the bar. Both Autumn and Vanessa stared after them as they started their bikes.

"Where are they goin'?" Autumn asked her.

"Ta go see the Prez," Vanessa answered, and Autumn had no idea what that meant either. 

"Who's that?"

Vanessa chuckled. "Oh little girl, you have so much to learn," she sighed, throwing her arm about Autumn's shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: again for mentions of child loss, and also for mentions of past domestic violence and abuse.

"Let's have a drink," Vanessa suggested. "You're over twenty-one, right?" 

Autumn nodded, then pulled down one of the barstools as Vanessa stepped behind the counter. "I ain't got no money-"

"I know. Ace told me. So what are ya havin'? You can have anything you want. On the house."

"Thank you." She brushed her damp hair over one shoulder, eyeing the selection of liquor on the shelves. "Jack," she said simply, and Vanessa lifted a brow. Autumn didn't particularly care for the taste of whiskey, but she knew how strong it was, and after what just happened, nothing else would cut it to settle her nerves. Vanessa turned and hunted the shelves until she found a bottle of Jack Daniel's with one of those little plastic taps on the top of it, then reach for a shot glass underneath the counter. She poured Autumn a shot, one she greedily accepted, raising it in salute before knocking it back, wincing a little at the harsh taste.

She spotted the flash of gold on her finger when she did, and stared at her wedding band for a moment before yanking it off and tossing it on the counter. "For the drink," she said, pointing to it, and Vanessa chuckled. "It's all I got right now."

"Keep it," Vanessa said, then turned and lifted a bottle of vodka from the shelf, followed by a can of sprite from the cooler. "We'll take it to the pawn shop if you're lookin' to get rid of it. Won't get much for it, but you'll have some walkin' around money." Autumn brightened at the prospect of having a little cash, so she slid the ring off the counter and stuffed it in her pocket. "Alright, baby girl, the men are gone, and it's just you and me now. Wontchya tell me what happened to ya, and if ya want, it'll just stay between us girls, alright?" She poured the can of sprite into her vodka glass. "How'd you end up with that asshole husband of yours?" 

Autumn scratched her head, then lifted her shot glass, so Vanessa poured her another shot.

Ace's sister seemed like a decent sort, so after swallowing the acidic brew, Autumn started from the beginning.

She told Vanessa about meeting Casey when she was sixteen and he was nineteen. He'd just started working the job he had at the time, had himself a car too, and everything was nice at first. Her parents would've killed her if they knew she'd sneak out if the house to go on dates with a boy over eighteen, but it was fun being with Casey. At first. Then she got pregnant. Her parents were furious, but Casey offered to take care of her and the baby, so she thought everything would work out. She thought he loved her, thought she loved him too. But not long after they got hitched, his parents moved back east, and wanted them to move too, so they could be close to their grandchild.

Casey cared more about what his family wanted than what she wanted, so he made her choose. Her parents and her life in Silver Springs, or Casey, the father of her unborn child. At the time she was still just a dumb hormonal kid that didn't know any better, who really just wanted to get out from under her parents' thumb, so she left. Being legally married to Casey meant she was an emacipated adult, so they couldn't stop her from leaving, even though she was under eighteen. She moved to that small hick town with Casey and his family, settled down in that house, and Casey started a new job, both of them expecting a baby to arrive.

But she didn't. Sierra came out stillborn, and it was the most painful experience of Autumn's entire life. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so damn much if she hadn't been so far along, hadn't already seen an ultrasound of her unborn baby's face, picked out a name, and had a nursery full of baby clothes and a crib. She couldn't say, but it was a god-awful nightmare, because she was already so far from home, had no friends or family to lean on for emotional support, and Casey's parents blamed her for the loss, because it was a high risk pregnancy to start with. Physically, she had been too weak to carry the child full term, and they behaved as if she killed their grandchild.

It became evident right away in the relationship that the baby had really been the only thing holding Autumn and Casey together in the first place. Neither of them were mature enough for marriage, nor were they mature enough to handle such tremendous loss. Then Casey started becoming suspicious of everything she said or did, always accusing her of cheating if she left the house, even if it was just to go to the grocery store. Accusing her of lying, of trying to leave him, and it seemed that no matter what she said or did, she was always doing something wrong, and every argument was her fault somehow. The first time he'd put his hands on her, he'd managed to twist the situation around to make it sound like she'd provoked him.

Once, she'd tried to reach out to her family, to tell them what was going on, but they wouldn't help. Said that she'd gotten herself into that situation, so she could get herself out of it. Casey took her phone from her and wouldn't let her have her own cellphone after that. Said things like she was just wanting to be able to call and text the men she was supposedly screwing, and said if she absolutely needed to use a phone, she could use his. But she was never allowed to. Casey would turn it into a fight somehow. Wouldn't let her have a car, nor a driver's license to even borrow someone else's car, wouldn't let her have a job, or even give her any money. 

Wouldn't let her leave the house unless it was with him, and made her stay within his sights at all times so he could see precisely what she was doing. She'd gotten no help from the police when she'd filed charges against him, and no help from anyone in town either. She'd been trapped in that house, Casey's erratic behavior steadily increasing past the point of even sane. She knew he was unstable. Knew the moment he'd threatened to kill her and then himself if she ever left him. But she couldn't get away from him to seek help from a professional. She was scared to so much as breath wrong in his presence, and every day felt like walking on thin ice when Casey wasn't working.

He had friends and family and police on his side, telling her she was the one that was crazy. She was the one that needed help, because Casey could be so nice and sweet and charming when he wanted to be. He could fool the world. At least until last night when he tried to drag her out of the Black Powder, and an even _crazier_ man entered the picture. Thinking about every awful thing Casey had ever done to her over the years made her wish Casey hadn't pulled a spade that night, just so she could watch Ace blow his brains out of his head and watch him bleed out on the floor. It was a terrible thing to want someone to die, but Autumn guiltily wished it had been so.

By the time she finished her story, Vanessa had finished her drink, Autumn had downed 5 or 6 shots of whiskey, and had started tearing up throughout. She sniffed repeatedly, wiping her tears with the napkin Vanessa handed her.

When it was concluded, Vanessa said, "Well, baby girl, it's all over now. You ain't ever gonna suffer that man again. We'll make sure of it."

Autumn downed her seventh - or was it eighth? - shot of Jack Daniel's and asked, "You're really gonna be able to protect me if the cops get involved?"

Vanessa nodded. 

"We got the law on our side too. We ain't payin' no cops, but on paper we're law abiding citizens just like everyone else, and as long as you don't mention my brother havin' that gun, or anything you see takin' place in this bar, ain't no deputy is gonna have a problem with us. State police too. We're legitimate business owners that pay our taxes. So if your husband ever shows his face around this bar again, he'll have a nasty surprise comin' to him." Vanessa proceeded to make a second drink for herself, and by this point, Autumn had enough whiskey to last her a lifetime, so she shook her head when Vanessa offered to pour another shot. 

She thought to change the subject and get to know Vanessa better, and stated bluntly, "So you were a prostitute." To which Vanessa set down her drink, placed a hand on her hip, and chuckled, nonplussed by that statement.

"Prostitution is illegal, honey," she reminded.

"But that's what all the women do around here, don't they?" Autumn asked. "Fuck Pagans for money from the tip jar?"

Vanessa laughed, like it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "No, honey. We fuck Pagans 'cause we're Pagan women. We their wives and their girlfriends. Well, some of us. Maybe some of us are just sluts hangin' around, but we ain't no different than other bar women. Me, I'm only fuckin' around with Singer." She pointed to his name on her vest. "That's what this means. 'Property Of Singer'. That means he's my only man." 

Autumn blinked rapidly when she heard that. "Property?!"

Vanessa laughed. "It ain't really what it sounds like."

"Then what is it?"

"Well, other clubs might do it differently, but among the Pagans, it's just like bein' married to 'em. You only take care of them, and they look after ya. I'm legally married to Singer too," She flashed her wedding band, "But this? Means a whole helluva more to those men than some flimsy marriage license." She knocked back her glass. "It means they look out for ya, and provide for ya, long as your willin' to do the same for them. You cook for em, clean for em, raise their kids up right, and put out for em when they want. Just like a wife. But it's more than that. Bein' somebody's Property means you're lookin' out for the club's interests too.

You don't disrespect the members, you keep your mouth shut about things ya might overhear, and ya even lie for em if ya have to. Bein' somebody's Property means you've proven yourself as a Lady, and that man wants ya to himself, so he gets permission from the club President to own ya. That's how most women earn it. Bein' a Lady first. They put out for any member, whenever asked. Once you do that, and you don't fuck around with any non-members on the side, you're considered a Lady. That shows you're loyal to the club. Then, if a man decides he wants to keep ya, he puts his patch on ya."

"And that's what you did?" Autumn asked, cringing at the thought of fucking every Pagan in the bar, just for a title, regardless of the percieved benefits.

"Me? Nah. Singer just asked the Prez if he could put his patch on me and he said 'yeah'. I didn't mess around with any other members besides Singer, despite what my brother might think. Don't have to be a Lady to be somebody's P.O. It's just how most get their start. But me I already proved my loyalty to the club in other ways."

Autumn nodded at that. She assumed Vanessa meant she did it by lying for them, or denying any criminal activity she was aware of Singer and her brother being involved in. Vanessa reached in her purse for her pack of smokes, opening the top. She held it out to Autumn first, offering her one if she wanted, but though she didn't normally smoke, the alcohol in her blood had her craving a cigarette for some reason, so she shrugged and took one. She didn't inhale the first couple of puffs after Vanessa lit it, just mentally processed the taste in her mouth. 

"What did my brother tell ya 'bout that tip jar?"

"Nothin'," Autumn shrugged. "He didn't have to tell me. Cheyenne said that money belonged to the Ladies, and I wasn't allowed to touch it since I ain't earned it, even though I was the one serving the drinks, and they were just sitting around, so I just assumed. I mean if they weren't working the bar to earn it, then how else would they?"

"Goddamn Cheyenne," Vanessa cursed. "I fuckin' hate that greedy bitch. She's the sorriest excuse for a Lady if ya ask me. Always back talkin' the men, and putttin' down other women, but she puts out so...The men don't really mind." Vanessa sighed. "She wasn't supposed to say nothin' to ya about it, 'cause nobody but potential Ladies are supposed to know, but yeah it's true. Ladies get a cut of the tip jar at the end of the night. We just ain't supposed to say it. But technically we ain't prostitutes. Them's _donations_. Ain't no real money is exchangin' hands, so cops can't say nothin' to us. We just leave that for the Ladies that ain't got no other means of makin' money, and say it's for the bartender."

Autumn lifted a brow. "But you have other means of makin' money?"

Vanessa chuckled. 

"Of course we do, baby girl. We're just like everybody else. Some of us are homemakers, some of us got regular payin' jobs, we do what we want. Only difference is our men ain't your average goverment ass kissin' white collar accountants. They're Pagans. They're a whole other breed of man." Vanessa smiled after saying that, like she was proud of it, and for a moment Autumn wondered just how much - or how little - she knew about her husband's extracurricular activities. She said as far as the cops knew they weren't criminals, but that didn't meant they weren't in actuality. Hell, maybe Vanessa had broken the law once or twice too, so she didn't really care if her husband was an outlaw.

But now Autumn was starting to wonder if Pagans were just a whole other breed of criminal entirely.

"Can I ask you somethin' else?" she began, inhaling just a small puff of her half burnt cigarette, now that she was getting used to the taste. "Your brother is he...well you know, all there upstairs?" She tapped her temple. 

"Well he was competent to stand trial at least," Vanessa said, then laughed at the look of question on Autumn's face. "He's a good man," Vanessa shrugged. "He's changed a bit, but...well, prison didn't fuck him up entirely at least. Just made him a bit rougher than he used to be. Bein' locked up for that long, it changes a man." Now it was Autumn's turn to be nonplussed. "I know what you're thinkin', honey, and no he ain't crazy or nothin'. He's just still a little tense right now on account of just gettin' out of prison yesterday. But I think once he gets used to bein' back on the outside again, he'll loosen up." 

That was what Vanessa defined as 'tense' for a man?

"How long was he in there for?"

"Ten years."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It was his second offense this time around, so he was required to serve no less than the minimum sentence which is ten years for small arms dealin'. Just finally got released as of yesterday, for time served. Your husband sure did pick a bad day to get on his last nerve. Man was probably already wound up tighter than a corkscrew when he walked in here. Then your asshole of a man decides to start trouble? He's probably lucky my brother didn't just decide to put him in the ICU."

"He don't seem to like me very much," Autumn remarked, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray nearby. 

Vanessa burst with a loud laugh this time, startling her in the process. 

"Oh I wouldn't say that, honey. Believe me he likes ya just fine. You didn't see the look on my brother's face when that cop was talkin' to ya. Looked like he was about to kill that man if he tried to drag you outta here. That man'll sooner go back to prison for life this time around than let anybody come near ya. Your husband better hope my brother never catches him alone somewhere when they're ain't no witnesses around." She stamped her cigarette out in the ashtray and added, "Long as Ace is around, and the club is protectin' ya, there ain't a man alive that's gonna hurt ya, baby girl. And you can take that shit to the bank."

Autumn took a deep breath through her nose, then reached for the bottle of whiskey to pour herself one last shot, despite her distaste for the substance.

For some reason, what Vanessa had said wasn't all that reassuring.

She was quite certain men like Ace only had one reason for wanting to look out for a woman, and it had nothing to do with kindness.

But she would never say that to his sister, and would certainly never say it to his face either.

Right now Ace was the one thing keeping her husband away, and she'd rather tolerate Ace for all eternity than spend one more day with that insufferable bastard.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Slater's Faceclaim (Matthew Nable)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/eec7327fb0864cab2ddafe18d440c9e2/a941ccbd490371ba-36/s1280x1920/c5eb4b5ef13105e5c289a7672180af5b0e272145.jpg)
> 
> [Monica's Faceclaim (Gina Carano)](https://66.media.tumblr.com/04c1df0fa6292d1f0dd26a4201c16a56/a941ccbd490371ba-2f/s640x960/f8f7bcddd27502db839df4816186a2935238b8b3.jpg)

Singer would never know the details of the long and complicated history between Ace and the new acting President, unless he'd ever been an Enforcer for the Pagans, which he wasn't, but Ace had many reasons to dread a visit with Slater. They had a long standing grudge with one another that dated clear back to when they both prospected for the Pagans and while Ace was ready to bury the hatchet between them, he couldn't be sure if Slater would be willing to do the same. Things had certainly changed in the last ten years, but Ace couldn't be sure how those changes affected the President himself.

He was married now, and living in a nice two story house just outside city limits. It was freshly painted and the patch of yard surrounding it had just been recently cut. Some landscaping had been done at some point, as there were flower beds with brick borders surrounding the porch, and the flowers had recently been mulched. If not for the black custom chopper with blue flames airbrushed on the gas tank parked next to a Nissan, one would never guess the house belonged to a member. Either business was lucrative since changes to policy had been made, or Slater's old lady had a fairly decent paying job that could afford such upkeep.

Ace and Singer pretty well forgot their argument over his and Vanessa's recent nuptials, and Ace put Autumn far from his mind as well, as they shut off their bikes, flipping up kickstands and leaning them over, just as Slater was coming out of the house to stand on the front porch, hands in his pockets, smiling at them both. As they stepped onto the porch, Slater got a better look at Singer's eye and said, "Whew, look at that shiner!" He leaned in close to inspect the slightly swollen red mark where Ace's fist had connected with his face and asked, "Your ass forgot to mention you married his sister, didn't ya?" Singer lamely nodded. Slater laughed. "Boy you're lucky that's all he did to ya."

Slater hadn't changed much. Still had that same wild look in his eyes and smirk on his face, though his curly hair and bushy beard were turning gray, and served as yet another reminder that they weren't kids anymore. Slater turned to Ace, who'd been expecting a slightly resigned look in place of a smile, but the Prez had an even bigger grin for him, like he was genuinely happy to see the man. Ace didn't trust that. But it could just be that he'd gotten so used to having to watch his back on a constant basis that he was so slow to trust, or it could be the long and complicated history, but Ace frowned and shifted uncomfortably, scratching his head.

Slater stuck his hand out for a shake. "The Ace of Spades triumphantly returns," he said, as Ace shook his hand. "Shit's about to get exciting around here, ain't it? Always is with your lunatic ass hangin' around."

"Slater," he greeted, instead of commenting on that. "Congrats on winnin' the election."

"Why thank ya," he grinned. Then he turned back to Singer, shaking his hand next. "Where's your ol' lady?"

"She's back at the bar. We had somethin' come up. She ain't joinin' us for lunch."

"Well that's too bad. Monica was lookin' forward to seein' her...Won't you boys come on in."

He cordially invited both men into his home, and Ace's eyes darted around the immaculately clean living space. Smelled like Fabreeze or fabric softener, something of the like, mixed with the smells of food cooking on the stove in the kitchen. "Gotta take your shoes off. Monica just vacuumed." Both men paused to slip out of their boots, Singer bending to unlace his, and Ace couldn't resist the urge to nudge him with his boot until he tumbled forward, making him curse, before toeing out of his own pair of riding boots and wandering into the living room, looking around. There were pictures on the walls of who he presumed was Monica, with three boys of various ages, around ten to twelve years old.

"Since when do you got kids?" Ace asked Slater, who chuckled.

"Them's my step-sons," he explained, and Ace slowly nodded. "Oh but hey, before I forget, no smokin' in the house either. Monica don't like that shit." Ace nodded again. He'd make a comment about Slater's ass being whipped and Monica keeping his balls in a jar, but judging by the picture, Monica was a stunning woman and she probably owned the house, so Ace could see why Slater would let her have the run of it, if she felt like it. Slater always let his women have whatever they wanted, long as they took good care of him. Ace just never pictured Slater ever settling for just the one woman.

He waved them into the kitchen where she stood by the stove, stirring something in a sauce pan, which didn't smell half bad. Looked like canned stew though. He'd eaten too much of that behind bars. Probably wasn't half as good as Autumn's cooking either, but surely Ace could stomach it.

"Hi there!" Monica smiled at him and Singer as they entered.

"Hey Monica," Singer grinned, meeting her halfway for a hug, but Ace declined to do the same, staying right where he was with his hands in his pockets.

"Ma'am," he clipped in short order, and she smiled warmly at him. 

"Wonchya boys have a seat," she said. "Lunch is almost ready."

Ace and Singer obliged, settling at the table right there in the kitchen across from Slater, shooting the breeze while Monica finished making food. She asked where Vanessa was, and Singer explained in short order that they had an unexpected guest staying at the Black Powder. Monica made it a point to say that if Autumn needed anything, she'd be happy to help, and Slater didn't contradict that statement, just smiled and nodded his curly head. Ace just listened mostly throughout conversation, picking at the plate Monica set before him when food was ready to be served. Listened to Slater, his wife, and Singer catch Ace up on what he missed.

Mostly just who died, who got locked up, who left the club, who got married, had kids, or got divorced. Told stories about crazy shit that happened at the Black Powder, then Singer and Slater told Monica stories about Ace and all their wild times at the bar and grille. Never mentioned any club business of course, just mentioned some of their bar fights and backyard brawls with townsfolk and rival gang members. The time Ace won a game of poker and the prize was a night with some white collar's wife. Ace remembered her. Pretty woman, but horrible in the sack. Ten minutes into it, he shoved her off his lap, walked back out of the VIP room, and said, "Hell, you can have her back."

But finally, after lunch had been eaten, and Monica had taken their plates and washed the dishes in the sink, Slater got this pensive look on his face as he sat across from Ace and studied him. Slater could see for himself that Ace had changed. Maybe he didn't know the specifics yet, maybe Singer hadn't told him, but he could see it. As Monica reached in the refrigerator for three ice cold bottles of beer for the men, then popped the tabs on each, Slater finally said, "Baby, wonchya run to the store real quick," meaning he had something private to discuss with Ace and Singer. Monica set the bottles in front of them and turned to eye her husband with a confused expression.

"But I just went to the grocery store this mornin'."

"We're out of milk."

Evidently that was the signal to make herself scarce, because she didn't argue, just nodded and said, "I'll be back in an hour." She left the kitchen and Ace heard the jingling of keys and the clinking of a purse being grabbed before shoes were slipped on and the front door opened and shut. Slater leaned back with his beer in his hand and spared a glance with Singer before he said, "Your brother tells me you wanted out." He took a swig of his brew. So did Ace, eyes shifting to Singer, who looked just as thoughtful on the situation, but not pissed. Just concerned about Ace.

Instead of commenting, he set down his beer and looked back at Slater, asking, "Yeah ya mind tellin' me why he was gonna take the keys to my motorcycle and have the boys beat the tar outta me in the back lot?"

Both Slater and Singer chuckled.

Then Slater said, "New policy we recently put in place."

"New policy," he repeated.

Ace rubbed his chin at that. It was how things had always been done. You either kill or you die. There was no other way to live. Once you put that vest on, you were in it for life, and you either acted in the interest of the club, or you lay face down in the dirt with a bullet embedded in your skull. But Slater elaborated with, "Times have changed, Ace. We can't do things how we used to anymore. And we've all lost too many brothers along the way. Gettin' harder and harder to do what we do, and the feds are breathin' down our necks now too. So the club is cleanin' up. Goin' straight...or straighter, might I say. Singer might've mentioned it, but I'll just tell ya how it is. No more killin'." 

Ace breathed through his nose, but otherwise didn't react to that. Just took another sip of his beer. 

"If it's an isolated incident outside the club or in self defense, it don't rightly matter, but inside the club, we don't take shit that far anymore." Slater sipped on his beer. "And that's not all that's changed, but I imagine that's the most relavent concern to a former Enforcer," he added, and Ace's lip twitched when he said 'former'. Meaning no longer. That was a big part of the job when policing members, which was what an Enforcer was licensed to do. Police other members within their organization to be sure they followed the Pagan Outlaw code, up to and including the Cabinet themselves, which consisted of the Prez, the VP, Secretary, Treasurer, Sergeant, and any Gunmen hired for private hits. 

They were elite members of a chapter that regulated club proceedings, and when a member turned traitor, or went rogue and tried to leave the organization, Enforcers were sent in to take them out if they wouldn't come quietly to justice. If a member asked to be taken out, Enforcers pulled the trigger, just as Ace had asked of Singer atop Disciple Hill. Ace had wondered why there were no members in the bar last night wearing the Enforcer patch, why he had been the only one. Because the Pagans evidently no longer doled out that kind of justice. Ace was the last one of their chapter. Hell maybe he was the last Enforcer of any branch. 

But no new Enforcers were elected, and Ace could take the bullets out of his Baretta if he wanted. 

Every single one.

"And no more of my brothers dyin' for this patch," Slater concluded.

He pointed to the patch on his own vest. Ace stared at it for a minute, then took another drink, eyes gravitaiting toward the kitchen window, through which light steadily poured through.

"I suupose you wanna take back this Enforcers' patch your uncle gave me?" he asked, before turning his gaze back to Slater, who's nonchalant expression turned to one of mild amusement, obviously still remembering the night in the Black Powder they'd gotten into a heated argument about it, how he'd tried to rip it off Ace's vest and so Ace had wrenched his arm behind his back, slammed him face down into the counter, then aimed his pistol at the back of his head, saying, "You can have it when I'm good and dead." He didn't think Ace should be wearing it. Didn't think he deserved that honor bestowed upon him. Wasn't worthy of it.

Accused Ace of just using it as a means to commit murder, because he'd enjoyed the killing aspect of it all.

Sadly, he hadn't been wrong on that account, but it wasn't his decision to make as to whether or not Ace held that position, at the time anyway.

But now...

"You can still wear it," Slater said, to his surprise. "But I don't want any man acting as Enforcer for this chapter."

"Alright," he agreed.

Ace still had this twisting feeling in his gut, especially when thinking about the pistol that would normally be tucked under his arm, but was currently back at the Black Powder, in Vanessa's possession. How it felt heavy in his hands, yet still, like an appendage. A part of Ace that he couldn't live without, but no longer had the strength to carry. It was the only thing he'd ever known. Only thing he was ever good at. But now that he didn't need it anymore, what was he to do with his life? Who might he become? When horses outlived their use on the farm, they were taken out back behind the farmhouse and shot. But Ace was a plow horse still limping his way around the barnyard.

As if sensing his unease, Slater asked him, "You wanna tell me why you wanted Singer to put that barrel to your head and blow your brains out?" He lifted a brow expectantly at Ace, who sighed and scrubbed his face, thinking for a minute.

He glanced at Singer nearby, who said absolutely nothing, and simply kept his thoughtful expression, eyes on Ace as he sipped his beer.

"It's the only thing I've ever known, Slater," he murmured quietly, and he didn't need to elaborate for either man to understand. "Only thing my ass knows how to do. And if I could never bring myself to pull that trigger anymore, then I'd just assume turn that gun on myself, 'cause there really ain't no better excuse for keepin' my ass around."

Both Singer and Slater leaned back in their seats at that, sighing. Ace had admitted his truth. He had no purpose in life, so he didn't see a point in living it. "Can't very well picture me gettin' a payin' job and doin' my taxes like some ass kissin' white collar boy," Ace added. They both chuckled at that, and Ace himself even managed a smirk, but the heavy theme of conversation still hung thickly in the air between all three men. That Ace was just a hair trigger away from putting a bullet in his head all by himself if no one else would do it. He snatched up his beer and chugged it down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He sucked in a breath through nose and said, "And now you're tellin' me I can take the bullets out my gun. I'd be all too happy to do so. But just tell me one thing, Slay...The hell am I gonna do now?"

There was a long pause, but then it was Singer who answered, assuredly, as if he and the new Prez had already talked this over in his absence.

"We'll, you'll stay at the Black Powder. You can manage the place for us. Keep a special eye on that Cheyenne girl when she's workin' though? Andrea thinks she might be cheatin' the other women on their cut of the money, and if she is, we'll throw her out on her ass. The Ladies'll see she gets a proper beatin' for that shit when no one's lookin'. And you can keep the white collars off the women, throw em out if they get too rowdy. The club will see to it that your phone bill is paid, and get ya anything else you might need. All the food you can eat, whiskey you can drink, and women you can fuck. Can't really think of a better use of a man's time, can you?"

Ace just nodded at all that, hardly thrilled by the prospect of regulating the Black Powder like the bouncer of some city nightclub for room and board, but it was better than twiddling his thumbs.

And as long as Autumn was there, he could keep an eye on her at least.

He flicked his lip with his teeth and said, "Alright then."

"And if you get the itch to use that pistol on yourself, or anyone else for that matter, just hop on your bike and ride away, think on it for a little while before you decide on it."

Ace nodded, staring at his near empty beer bottle.

This would take some getting used to.

"Ya need me to quit carryin' it?"

Slater shrugged. "If it helps. If it don't, you can keep it. Reckon that decision is yours to make. Just can't have no cops catchin' ya with it in your possession and that shit bein' tied back to the club somehow. Like I said, far as the cops know, we're on straight shit now, and make our money right an' legal too."

Again, Ace nodded. 

"Alright, then I just got one question for ya."

"Okay shoot."

With a dead serious expression, Ace asked, "Why in the hell did you let my sister marry this fuckin' numbskull?"

Singer rolled his eyes, but Slater laughed at that.

"Cause I knew how much it would piss you off," he chuckled, making Ace pinch his lips together in a frown, wishing he could throttle both men. "Oh hell, Ace. She loves the man. You really think I coulda stopped those two from bein' together if they wanted to?"

"You coulda talked some sense into my sister."

"No I couldn't. She's too much like you. I reckon she was gonna marry herself a Pagan regardless. We both know she had her heart set on it years ago." 

"But why Singer? The boy don't know his ass from his elbow."

"I'm sittin' right here!"

"I know. That's why I said it, knuckle-head! Maybe it might finally sink in."

Slater laughed at both men, knowing full well Ace was only fucking with Singer and just trying to scare him a little, so he'd think twice about ever hurting Vanessa. But the truth was that Ace was just glad it was Singer she'd taken up with. Slater took one last drink of his beer before setting it aside, propping his elbows on the table and saying, "Here's the sad truth of it, brother...Every single man in the Black Powder is scared to death of your sister. Myself included. Ain't nobody in their right mind is gonna tell that woman 'no'. She's a good Pagan Lady too, Ace. Grew up to be a damned fine woman. Hell if she was a man I'd make her member."

That actually got Ace to chuckle a little. Yeah, when he thought about it, maybe Vanessa always was meant to be a Pagan woman, and there just weren't any stopping that. But having women on the brain made him thinking about Autumn again, and he frowned once more.

As if reading his mind, Slater said, "And speaking of women...How about I text Monica and have her meet us over at the bar and let's see this pretty little Trick ya got up your sleeve?" 

Slater smiled a harmless inquisitive-yet-clueless smile again, as if just curious to see what the fuss was about, but Ace's jaw flexed in irritation at Autumn's mention. 

Already Ace had almost killed a cop today for that little girl. 

He was starting to wonder if maybe his sister was right.

Maybe he hadn't really changed at all.

Maybe it was his gut telling him he would always be a killer, and the urge to pull that trigger would never truly leave him.

He'd just never had a good enough reason to pull it until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple more chapters, then the relationship starts. (That means awkward sexual tension and eventual smut, for those of you who are only here for that anyway.)


	13. Chapter 13

"What does an Enforcer do?" Autumn asked Vanessa, who flicked the ashes on her cigarette. They had just finished taking down all of the tables and chairs and setting them properly in place, Vanessa flipping the sign around to say Open, while Autumn flipped the switch for the neon sign out front, then they sat at the bar listening to the classic rock radio and chatting, when Autumn thought to ask that question. "It says it on the back of Ace's vest. Is it some kind of special rank for Pagans or something?" 

"Sort of yeah."

"Sort of?"

Vanessa nodded.

"Pagans don't actually have Enforcers anymore, not like they used to. Ace is the only one of this chapter, and I reckon he'll have to find somethin' new to do for the club now that they did away with it, but what they used to do was police other members' activities. See, other clubs might do it different, but with this one, the ranking goes from Prospects, which are the ones looking to be members and still provin' themselves to the higher ups, but ain't actually members yet, then you have the standard entry level members that just have 'Member' patches, that are full fledged members but don't have any rank, which means they don't make no decisions during meetings. They just take orders.

Then you have the Cabinet, which is the Prez, the Vice Prez, Secretary, the Treasurer, the S.A.A. - that's the Sergeant At Arms - and the Roadey. They're the ones that preside over meetings. You also have the Founder of each chapter, and aside from that you have Enforcers, which are the ones that act directly on behalf of the President or the Founder, and they make sure everyone else minds their P's and Q's. No one really knows what specifically they do for the Prez, 'cause ain't nobody but members is allowed to know what happens during meetings, but I'll say this: When a member was doin' somethin' they weren't supposed to, they'd better not let the Enforcers catch them doin' it."

"Why?" Autumn asked. "What did they do?"

"Well... I'll put it this way, they knew how to make people go away for a good long while."

Autumn lifted a brow at that, the alcohol swimming in her veins preventing her from being too frazzled by the ominousness of that statement, but it was still unsettling. Autumn assumed that whatever Enforcers did might've had to do with the reason Ace toted that pistol around under his vest. If Enforcers were some kind of internal police force to the Pagans, she highly doubted Ace just wrote them tickets or issued fines for bad behavior. "So what do they actually do? Members, I mean." She tapped her own borrowed cigarette on the ashtray. "All I've ever read about bikers was how they were drug dealers and gang bangers." 

Vanessa laughed at that.

"Yeah that's what everyone assumes. And maybe some of em are, but they keep all their dealin' on the side and leave the club out of it, and most Pagan men are good enough men. Like Singer. He don't mistreat women. And us girls have our rights to refuse to give it up to men if we don't want to, and ain't nobody is gonna make us stay. We can leave any time we want, baby girl, but long as the men provide for us, ain't none of us really have a reason to leave anyway." She stamped her cigarette out. "They just don't pay us in cash, is all. The services we provide get us food, shelter, any material items we can't get for ourselves, and protection."

"Protection?"

"Yep. Like my brother keepin' your husband's filthy hands off ya? That's what they do for us Ladies. When no one else can help us, Pagan men will find a way to get the job done, even if they have to step outside the law to do it. Better than a beat cop, if ya ask me, 'cause Pagan men? They don't let some flimsy piece of paper stop em. And Hell hath no fury like a Pagan fired up." Vanessa laughed as she said that last part. Autumn was inclined to agree at least on that front. The night before, seeing that chilling look in Ace's eyes, gave her no room to doubt he'd pull that trigger. 

There was no fear, no hesitation on his part, and Autumn assumed it was just smarter to have a man like that on her side, than working against her.

But some of the men just seemed like utter dogs, no better than any other scum walking in off the street.

"No offence," she began, "But...you sure it ain't the Pagans I gotta worry about?" she asked. Vanessa scrunched her face in confusion. "Last night one of them tried to get handsy with me while I was serving drinks. His vest said Farley."

Vanessa stared at the ceiling until she got this look of recognition on her face and said, "Oh I get it." Then she laughed. "He probably just thought you were one of the Honeys. We have them do that sometimes. Serve the food and drinks for customers so they can collect tips for the Ladies. But Honeys ain't allowed to work the register, only Ladies do that, 'cause they're the only ones that can be trusted with the Pagans' money. You ain't gotta worry about Farley. Long as you're earnin' your keep, you have every right to be here, same as the Ladies, even if ya ain't puttin' out. Next time he gets a little grabby with ya, you just give him a good slap across the face. He'll get the message."

Autumn's brows went up at that. "Slap him across the face? Really?"

"Yep, or whatever other way you'd refuse a man. You go right on ahead. If anybody's gotta problem with it, hell, I'll take it straight to the Prez if I have to." Vanessa took a sip of her sprite and added, "But I reckon my brother will put a bullet in 'em first." She winked. Autumn gulped at that. 

She was so caught up in what Vanessa had said, she almost forgot to ask, "Wait, what's a Honey?"

Vanessa snorted. "Potential Ladies," she answered. "Them's what we call the hang-arounds looking to be Pagan women. We used to just call em sluts or put-outs, but one year at an annual meeting of the chapters, we heard one of the other Ladies from another chapter callin' the women that. Oh what was her name? Can't remember, but I wanna say it was their Treasurer's wife. Liza or Lisa, somethin' like that. She called all their fresh recruits Honeys, and it caught on, so now all the chapters do it. That's what we call the women still provin' their loyalty to the men so they can one day be Ladies and reap our benefits. 

They get free drinks and stuff, and a cot upstairs if they ain't got not place else to go, but they ain't allowed to touch the tip jar til they become a proper Lady and have a name on their vest. That's how the men tell us apart. We train only the most loyal and dependable women up to be Ladies." Vanessa lit another cigarette, set the lighter aside, took a puff, then said, "You know, my brother said you was lookin' for a payin' job, but ya ain't got no diploma. Maybe you outta consider bein' a Lady." Autumn sucked in a breath and prepared to deny any and all interest in being a biker whore, when Vanessa cut in with, "Look it's real easy. All ya gotta do is put out for em."

"I'm - I'm not - I couldn't possibly. I-I mean - that kind of thing...really isn't my thing."

Vanessa chuckled. 

"We'll it aint nothin' to be ashamed of. Aint nothin' wrong with lettin' a man take care of ya in exchange for a little cash every now and then. Hell, every married woman does it. I mean get this: Some women have to give it up entirely for free when they're with somebody. Most women want to. I don't know a woman alive that don't wanna fuck every now and then, unless they're them asexual types or somethin', so why give up somethin' you like doin' anyway, all for nothin', when you could be gettin' somethin' out of the deal? You could stay as long as ya want, and you could leave any time ya feel like it too. Just don't ever say nothin' about gettin' paid."

"I don't wanna be a prostitute," Autumn contested, shaking her head. But she said it with a chuckle, hoping and praying Vanessa wouldn't get offended. But luckily she just laughed, shaking her head. 

"Whore," she corrected, nudging Autumn's shoulder playfully. "There's a difference, baby doll."

She snorted. "Okay. Whore then. I don't wanna be a whore."

"Why? It's just the same as takin' home any other man ya pick up in a bar. Only the men are Pagans, and they're payin' your bills. I say that's the better option."

"I-I don't want to be somebody's old lady."

"You'd make a good one though. Hell, if you ask me, you've already proved yourself as a Lady. You worked, ya cleaned, ya cooked for my brother, and why, ya even lied for him too. You didn't say nothin' to that cop about what my brother did. Hell, that makes you a bona fide Pagan Lady in anybody's book. All that's missin' is puttin' out for em, and you've earned yourself a name on your jacket." Vanessa pointed to where it said her own name on the back of her vest. "You'd make somebody a good P.O. I say that's what ya do. You get yourself a name, and you get yourself a Pagan man." She nudged Autumn's shoulder again. "My brother's available," she winked.

Autumn tried not to seem too disgusted by that and risk offending Vanessa. Wasn't like Ace was even disgusting or anything. Not at all. At least not any more than any other man, but he was criminal. With psychopathic tendancies, and Autumn couldn't see herself being attached to Ace in any way. She held no delusions. She knew what men like Ace were after, and despite how easy Vanessa made it sound, being involved with a biker was nothing like the movies. If it was, it was a disheartening documentary on the effect of gangs and criminal activity on society. Not a romance novel. She found no thrill or excitement whatsoever in the prospect.

And after everything she went through with her husband, the very last thing she wanted was to be someone's Property.

But she had no job, no other means of providing for herself, and if she couldnt find any other way to earn cash, that tip jar would start looking more and more apppealing. 

"Only because I'm curious, and not because I have any intention of being one, but...let's just say I _was_ a Honey. How many members would I have to fuck to get a cut of that tip jar?"

"All of them at least once."

"All of them?!"

"Yep. Or become a P.O. Then you only take care of the one, and could just get money from your old man whenever you need it. Pagan men take good care of their women. Anything you need, they provide."

Autumn processed that information, while next to her, Vanessa perked up in her seat like she had an epiphany just then, eyes wide on her face.

"I got it," she said. "That's what were gonna do with ya."

"What?"

"We're gonna find your ass a new man."

"Wait, what? But I already told you, I dont want-"

"No, no, baby girl, I ain't sayin' you fuck all of em. Just one of em. If we can't find you somethin' better before the next club meetin', whaddya say we have an auction?" 

"An auction?"

"Yeah," Vanessa smiled. "We offer ya up as a P.O. and see if there's any takers. Now, you wouldn't get to choose the man, you'd end up with the highest bidder, but you'd only have to take care of him, and whatever you need, baby, he'll give ya. And Ace'll make sure they don't ever treat ya like your asshole of a husband did."

Autumn snorted. She was only humoring Vanessa, not actually considering it or anything, but she asked, "Wouldn't I basically be their wife?"

"Well yeah. But ya ain't gotta stay with em. Like I said, this ain't the dark ages, ya ain't gotta stick around. You can leave any time ya want to."

"Okay but marryin' a stranger is definitely some dark age type shit."

"Well I was thinkin' more like an Old West Mail-Order Bride actually," Vanessa said, and that actually got Autumn to laugh. Mostly at the absurdity of it.

But right then was when they heard motorcycles pull in outside. Meaning the men had returned, and their revelry was over. But as long as she didn't have to go back to Casey, she was wondering if it really would be all that bad to be somebody's old lady.

Which was the lesser of two evils this time around?


	14. Chapter 14

The second Ace walked in that bar and saw that smile on Autumn's face, laughing at something his sister said right before they walked in, Eddie "Ace" Buchannon knew he was a doomed man. Fated to love a slip of a woman that had no business being in a Pagan bar. It was instant, how that smile cut right to his soul for just a second as she turned in her bar stool, that smile briefly aimed at him, until harsh reality kicked in as that smile quickly faded into a nervous sputter, like a little child caught with her hand halfway in the cookie jar. 

Ace strode across the bar and directly behind the counter as Slater and Singer followed him in. He slid out of his vest and laid it aside, intent on having his pistol back on his side where it belonged, but he paused when he reached for it. He looked up to see Autumn watching him intently while Vanessa greeted her husband and the President, who's eyes roamed over Autumn when she was introduced. She watched Ace pull the pistol out of its holster, slide open the barrel to dump the bullet out of the chamber into his waiting hand, then as he took the clip out and set the gun on the counter.

Watched with curiousness as he loaded the round back into the clip, then snapped it back in place. The gun fully loaded, but with no round in the chamber, when he tucked it back into the holster and slid it over his shoulders. He'd thought about it the whole ride back to the bar, and it was the only suitable compromise he could find. It kept him from obsessing so much over it, at any rate. He couldn't be the man he used to be, but neither could he be anything else, and life demanded he do what he had to in order to cope, so this was it. 

Because seeing that girl sitting in that bar stool, with those haunted eyes, looking much too tired for a face so young, made him not so quick to put a bullet in his brain, but not so eager to take the bullets out just yet either. Not when she might still need protection.

He didnt have to know her whole life story to know what she'd been through, didn't have to know a damn thing about her to know he needed to look out for her, however he could.

He could see it in those eyes.

"So this is Ace's little Trickster, is it?" The Prez asked, then he laughed. "Goddamn man, don't know why in the hell you'd wanna cut loose when you could have that to look at every day." Slater's eyes roamed appreciatively over Autumn, who ducked her chin and chewed her lip nervously, not liking the attention from him. "Just to look at that fine little thing would be reason enough to get out of bed every morning," he said. "Reminds a man he's got a pulse." He laughed again. "Hell she'd start a dead man's heart! Goddamn, I wish I didn't have a woman at home already, or I'd take her for myself."

Vanessa huffed a little at all that and said, "Better not let your wife hear ya sayin' all that."

"Oh I know," he chortled. "She'd kill my ass."

Ace, who'd been glaring intently at Slater, swallowed any harsh statement he might have and threw his vest back on in silence. "He don't mean no harm," he said quietly to Autumn. "That there's the President. He owns this bar. He don't mind ya stayin' here either, long as ya help out." Autumn nodded at that, sparing a glance at Slater who winked at her, and looked down at the table, pulling her hair over one shoulder. Not like a woman flirting, but like it was some nervous tick she had. She had a cigarette in her hand, one of Vanessa's, and she took a puff. "You smoke?" Ace asked.

"I do now," she shrugged.

Ace considered that for a second, then walked out from behind the counter and over to the table where Vanessa had left his stuff sitting on top, and snatched up his carton. The cellphone too, remembering to slip it in his pocket. He carried the carton over to the bar, fished out a pack and set it down. Then searched the shelf behind it, finding an orange Bic lighter someone left there by mistake and after flicking it to make sure it had fluid, he set it atop the pack and slid both in front of Autumn. "Thank you," she mumbled, hand curling around the pack. 

She didn't slip him even so much as a sliver of that beautiful smile of hers, but she looked grateful. Ace tucked the rest of the carton under the bar, then lifted a bottle of Jim Beam from the shelf when he saw they were out of Jack, then took it and a single shot glass with him over to the booth in the corner with his pack of playing cards, absent an Ace of Spades. That was where he stayed the rest of the afternoon, slowly partaking in drink, meticulously flipping cards, letting Autumn get to know the President and his wife when she arrived, puffing cigarette after cigarette. Ate dinner in that booth as well.

At some point one of the other Ladies arrived with a pair of women's black leather riding boots in a size seven for Autumn so she wasn't stuck running around the bar barefoot and risking lascerations in her feet from broken glass, should anyone decide to break a beer bottle that night. He paid minor attention to her throughout the day, as the men sat around and let the women cluck at one another, Vanessa, Andrea, and the Prez's wife giving Autumn the run down on how shit worked around the bar. Who everyone was as the bar slowly filled up until it was packed full that evening.

Ace was convinced at one point that the women were trying to recruit her into their ranks, and turn her on to being a Pagan's woman. Wasn't convinced it would ever happen. Was still fairly certain she was still no more than a neat trick that would be fun for a while, but eventually she'd move on. Reno. That's where she was headed. Reno, Nevada. The Ladies would help her get a job somehow, she'd save up the money to hitch a ride on Interstate 40, and she'd be gone in the blink of an eye. It would be like she was never there. But for the moment, she was a waitress at the Black Powder, until something better came along.

Ace snorted to himself when he very briefly thought on how the Prez had said she'd be a good reason to roll out of bed every morning. But forcibly put such thoughts out of his head and steadily flipped cards, cigarette pinched between his lips. Women like Autumn didn't want anything to do with men like Ace, that was simple truth. And Ace himself had seen too much, done too much, to earn a good woman like that. The night continued to run smoothly, even after the First Lady left to pick up her three boys, and Slater left not long after with the VP to take care of some business Ace didn't care to know the details of.

Ace had yet to have to get up and break up a fight or wrangle some man off any of the women, much less Autumn. The members pretty well treated her like any other white tailed collie once realizing she wasn't a bar whore, and the non-members treated her like any regular old waitress, just smiled and left her tips to stuff in the jar. But around nine thirty, Autumn left the counter and made a beeline directly for Ace's booth, which concerned him. He'd poured his own whiskey all evening, but Autumn came over and refilled his glass. He knew something was amiss when she leaned in dangerously close.

He doubted she was trying to get friendly with him, and while he was just finally drunk enough to not necessarily say no to such a thing, he leaned back in confusion when she did it. "We got a problem," she murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the music. "Or maybe I've just got a problem, I don't know, 'cause Vanessa never said if Ladies could do this but..." She glanced back at Cheyenne who mixed a drink for a customer behind a bar with a smile. "One of those men over there gave her a twenty, said keep the change, but she didn't put it in the jar. She slipped it in her pocket."

Well shit. Andrea was right then. Cheyenne was skimming money on the side. Probably figured that since she was a Pagan woman now that nobody would pay close attention to what she was doing anymore. Didn't think she had to keep her sticky hands to herself around Autumn either. "I asked her about it and she just told me to shut the fuck up. Sayin' I didn't see shit, but I aint makin' it up. I saw her do it." She borrowed Ace's lighter as she'd left her own behind the bar and added, "Can't fool a hustler," She lit her cigarette. "We invented that kind of shit."

Ace nodded at all that and got up from the booth. Looked like Autumn really came in handy to have, as more than just a pretty face or a sweet smile. 

No manager would make a big deal over change from a twenty dollar bill, but this was no white collar establishment. This was a Pagan bar, and you don't steal from Pagans or their women. So Ace knocked back his glass and waved for Autumn to follow him over to the bar, dodging bodies littering the path, talking and drinking, some of the eyes following Ace's cut as he crossed the space, Autumn trailing behind him. He walked behind the bar and frowned at Cheyenne, who smiled up at him cluelessly, like not a damned thing was wrong. "Turn out your pockets," he growled.

"What?" she sputtered.

"I said turn out your pockets."

"I didn't take nothin'!"

"I watched ya slip money in your pocket," Autumn said beside him, folding her arms. "Ain't tips supposed to go in the tip jar?" she asked, almost mockingly, like she was parroting words from Cheyenne's own mouth. 

She scowled and fired back, "You lyin' fuckin' bitch! I didn't take shit! Ace, she's the one takin' shit, not me. I would never do that shit-"

"Then prove it," he stated simply. "Turn out your pockets."

"Look this money is mine, Ace. It's from my tips last night. I swear. I'm a Pagan Lady. I would never do that shit to the club. I swear I wouldn't. I proved myself around here. This girl ain't proved shit to nobody except how she's a lyin' ass little cunt! Won't you have her turn out her pockets first! See if I'm lyin'!"

The fact that she didn't immediatley pull items out of her pockets told Ace everything he needed to know, but just for humor's sake he turned to Autumn and said, "Fair is fair." Autumn just shrugged.

She reached in the pockets of those tight jeans she was wearing that hugged her ass, and pulled out his apartment key that she'd obviously pocketed for safe keeping after showering earlier, and the gold wedding band that had been on her finger next. He took the key, but ignored the band and reached to pat down her pockets just to be sure, knowing how slick she could be with that slight of hand, hiding cards up her sleeve. He felt nothing more there, so he reached around to the back pockets, sliding his hands over her ass. Goddamn that felt good, and Ace clenched his jaw tightly as he slid his hands inside the pockets next.

Autumn's teeth clamped down tightly on her bottom lip as he felt her up thoroughly. "Check her bra too," Cheyenne suggested, growing more and more nervous by the second, shifting from foot to foot. Ace hand slid up and under the back of Autumn's shirt and he chuckled.

"She ain't wearin' one," he said, and glanced down to see Autumn's face turning red. He dropped his hands and turned to Cheyenne. Wasn't too keen on feeling her up like he did Autumn, so he said, "Pat her down," to Autumn, who stepped forward and reached out to pat her front pocket once, making change jingle, so she reached in and pulled out the wad of bills and change, plopping them on the counter. 

"That's my money, goddamn it!" Cheyenne snapped, catching customers' attention, and now all the men and women crowded around the counter were no longer paying attention to one another and talking amongst themselves over the music. "I didn't steal it, Ace!"

"She gave him a receipt," Autumn said. "What do ya wanna bet that change is the same amount as that receipt?" She leaned over the counter and spoke to the non-member wearing a faded leather jacket. "Sir do you mind if I see that receipt?" she asked sweetly. "Just gotta check somethin' real quick. Thank you. Much appreciated." She snatched the paper out of his hand and held it out to Ace. "Seventeen dollars and fifty-nine cents." She slid the wad of cash across the bar. "Go ahead and count it." She folded her arms and waited patiently while he counted, Cheyenne looking like she wanted to murder the girl.

The tally was seventeen dollars and fifty-nine cents, exactly. Ace glanced up at Cheyenne with a heated look. He just knew when he first saw the woman she'd be trouble somehow. 

"You know it really ain't a big deal," said the customer. "It's just a few bucks. Outta let her keep it." He winked at Cheyenne. Ace turned his fury to the middle aged man and sneered.

"Not in this bar," he seethed. "That ain't her money. Noe you best go on about your business and find your ass a seat somewhere."

The man held up his hands before walking away, like he wanted no part in it, and Ace turned back to Cheyenne, who was still shifting about restlessly, scared, but also pissed. 

"Take off that jacket," he said. Cheyenne scoffed.

"What are you gonna do, huh? Ya gonna throw me out on my ass?! Over seventeen fuckin' dollars?! I have been workin' here for ten fuckin' years, Ace! Ten fuckin' years! And I have been good to this club!" 

"And you've been stealin' from it too. Take off that jacket!"

With a huff, Cheyenne tore off the denim jacket with her name on the back and threw it to the floor.

"Go on then! Throw my ass out! What are ya gonna do, huh? Cause your ass is gonna have to drag me outta here! Ya gonna put your hands on me? Huh? Ya gonna rough me up? Go ahead, hit me! I fuckin' dare ya to! If you so much as lay one hand on me, I will call the cops on your ass so fuckin' fast, I swear to God!"

"I don't hit women," he said simply. "Trick, kindly show her to the door."

He walked away and let Autumn sort her out, he had no idea if the girl could fight, or if she even would. But as he was walking by their table, he spotted Vanessa sitting on Singer's lap and called out, "Ness, help Autumn! You girls get that thievin' bitch outta my sight and don't let her ass back in here!" He didnt turn to see the scuffle if there was one, just faintly heard Vanessa get up from Singer's lap and head over to he bar. Over the music and the roar of the crowd he couldn't hear what was said, but there was shouting, and as Ace settled in his booth, he'd turned just in time to catch Vanessa and Autumn each grab Cheyenne by the arm.

They marched her to the door and shoved her out of it. He made a mental note to thank her for that later. Who the hell even knew how much money she'd just saved the club, but she did it with those sharp eyes of hers. More and more did he want to take that girl to Vegas with him, wondering if she could get as good at card counting as she was at spotting pickpockets. He settled back in his seat and shuffled his own cards, waiting for the next little bit of excitement in the playground to commence.

He continued to flip cards for a while, eyeing non-members and watching their drinks slowly empty as the night progressed.

He never needed to get up from that spot the rest of the night however, as Vanessa took over for Cheyenne behind the bar, and chatted with Autumn in between their mixing drinks and serving tables. Then finally, after last call, the bar started to empty of patrons. Vanessa tallied the drawer and left with Singer, then Ace watched Autumn clear the tables. She'd be up for a while still. She'd have to wipe them down, turn up the chairs and mop the floors, then take out the trash. Shut the kitchen down too, and make sure the place was locked up tight, just like she'd done the night before. 

She stopped to smoke another cigarette, quite easily settling into being a chainsmoker just like him. Nicotine was probably the only thing holding her together at the moment as she sat at the bar and every so often flicked her ashes into the tray. She'd turned off the stereo, so there was no sound other than the flick of her cigarette and the flip of Ace's cards. Finally he stopped flipping them over and just settled back in his seat, watching Autumn for a time. After what he witnessed tonight, he wasn't so sure Autumn was all wrong for this place. Maybe Ace was the card that didn't belong in the deck.

After a while he collected his cards and rose from his seat, finally feeling that Jim Beam he'd been sipping on kick in and knock him for a loop. He blinked several times until he could see straight and headed over to the counter. When he reached it, he leaned heavily against it next to her, and Autumn looked up at him. He never took fate into his own hands and always let the cards fall how they may, that's just who he was, so just for the fun of it, he took another gamble, and set the deck on the counter in front of her. "Shuffle them cards, baby," he drawled, "Let's see what kinda luck my ass has got tonight."

She blinked at him, like it took a moment to register, before she cleared her throat and picked up the cards shuffling the deck. He watched her hands carefully, knowing the Queen of Hearts was buried somewhere in the deck. She set the cards down and he cut the deck, slowly sliding a card off the pile and flipping it over. No luck. 6 of Clubs. Autumn lifted a brow at him, but didn't day a word. "Damn," he cursed. "Just can seem ta hit that jackpot, can I?" he quipped, snatching up a cigarette and lighting it. He drew his apartment key from his pocket and tossed it on the counter. Then he snatched up the card deck from the countertop.

He shoved it in his pocket and walked over to the neglected jukebox in the corner that no one ever used anymore, because the stereo was always playing, then said, "You can take the bed tonight. I'll take the couch." He finished the change from his pocket that Cheyenne had lifted from the cash drawer and fed some quarters into the slot. He ran his fingers over the buttons, selecting the correct one to make One Of These Nights by the Eagles play on the jukebox and puffed on his cigarette, closing his eyes when the song started to break through the alcohol induced fog of his mind.

"You think I'm gonna make ya sleep on the couch in your own apartment?" Autumn asked him as he slowly made his way back to the counter. 

He shrugged and countered with, "My ass ain't gettin' lucky tonight anyway, now am I?" 

She snorted at him, like he was absurd. Maybe he was. Maybe he was the Joker in the deck this time around. The King of Fools. 

"I'll take one of the cots upstairs," she said. "But thanks anyway."

He breathed a sigh at her, then snatched up his key. 

"You're gonna end up bein' my reason for draggin' my sorry ass outta bed every mornin', aintchya?" he asked. 

Autumn's pretty little head reared back at that statement, her mouth dropped open too, and her eyes blinked wide open in surprise. While the statement probably didn't mean quite the same thing to her as it did to him, the words resounded in his head, going off like warning bells, even as he said them. Filtering into his thoughts to mix with the lyrics of the song that played. He walked away before he could hear her response, deciding that even one more minute spent around her while he was drunk like this would lead to some very bad decision making likely to occur.

She was too young and vibrant anyway, too good for the likes of him, and Ace was just too bent and scuffed around the edges.

But maybe one of these nights he'd hit a winning streak, if Autumn stuck around.

Just not tonight, apparently.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is going to start to pick up in this chapter, so just a heads up. Also, warnings for physical violence.

Almost a solid week passed by, and Autumn settled into her new life at the Black Powder. She stayed upstairs in the barracks typically reserved for Prospects, Honeys with no other place to go, or members just too drunk to ride their bikes after a night of drinking, and she worked for room and board. She got used to the men, and how they behaved, learning who she could get along with, and who was likely to be a problem. The women too. Once they figured out she was only there to serve food and drinks, and had no intention of cutting into their tips, they started to like her.

She was a big help to their money racket actually, because the regular customers that poured in tipped her pretty heavily on account if her being so nice and sweet to them, and those tips went straight to the jar, so she was a good bread winner for the Ladies. The tip jar was always nice and full by the end of the night. But it was the regular customers themselves that on occasion were a bother. The non-members Pagans liked to call "white collars", regular men that weren't affiliated with the club, who sometimes wanted to get handsy with her, and Ace would have to sort them out. 

He never drew his gun on them like he did her husband, but he was all too happy to throw them out on their ass if they were too persistent. Vanessa had been a big help to her too. She'd taken Autumn to the pawn shop to hawk her wedding ring, which she was right, Autumn didn't get much for, only fifty bucks, but she and Singer also took her to her house to pick up some of her things while Casey was gone. She didn't bother with any household items, because the bar had everything she'd need, but she was able to get her birth certificate and social security card, and her non-operator photo I.D.

They'd gone to the courthouse as well. She'd filed for a restraining order against Casey, which had been approved by the magistrate court, and while the divorce process would take a lot longer, she'd taken her first step to being legally and perminantly free of Casey Florence. The only hang-up to getting on her feet was getting her diploma, as she had two years worth of classes she missed when she dropped out of school that she'd have to make up for. Job hunting produced no results, because any place that was hiring required their employees to at least have their high school diploma or equivalent, and nothing under the table could be found.

One of the Ladies, Andrea, who Autumn found just as likable as Vanessa, knew of a woman with kids who was looking for a baby sitter, and even the President's wife offered to let Autumn baby sit her three boys for a little cash, but Autumn couldn't bring herself to accept. Not after everything she'd been through. It wasn't that she didn't like kids, or that they didn't like her, but losing her own made it hard to be around them sometimes. It hurt too much, watching other women raising happy, healthy children, a blessing Autumn herself had been denied. Being around a pregnant woman was the worst.

So she'd yet to find steady work, and a week later, was still at the Black Powder, bussing tables for a cot upstairs, but it wasn't so bad. She never saw any cash, but not that she really needed it though. Ace was right to say she'd never need her own money if she stayed. Whatever she needed, the Ladies or Ace could get her. Even things like over-the-counter medication, condoms and birth control. She had food, a roof over her head, and once she started smoking, Ace would hand her a fresh pack from his own carton every time she ran out of cigarettes. They never expected payment, and were happy to help her as long as she helped them.

She and Ace fell into a routine, since he stayed at the Black Powder as well. Predictably, around the time she got up and made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs, Ace would shuffle down the steps, likely because the smell of the food wafted up into his apartment. Fully clothed, in jeans and a muscle shirt or a t-shirt, with that vest thrown over it, and his riding boots. He'd mosey into the kitchen and make a cup of coffee, peering over her shoulder to see what she was making. They'd sit at one of the tables and eat breakfast together, Ace scarfing down her food like it was either the best thing he'd ever tasted, or wagered it might be his last meal.

Then, for the majority of the day, he'd sit in that booth in the corner with his deck of playing cards, puffing cigarette after cigarette, playing one game of solitaire after another, just to have something to do with himself. He said he did it a lot when he was locked up, and he just liked the consistency of the act. He didn't talk much though. If she asked him something, he'd give her an answer, but otherwise didn't have much to say. A man of few words. Autumn imagined others would probably blow their blains out from the monotony of it, but she kind of liked it. 

It was peaceful. It was so opposite to how her life had been the last seven years that even though she was stuck in a bar waiting tables with the ex con who lived upstairs always hovering, she couldn't help but feel this sense of contentment she'd never felt otherwise. But sometimes it felt a little too personal, the way she and Ace interacted. It was almost like being married to him, perched at the counter reading a newspaper while nearby her 'husband' sipped his coffee and flipped his playing cards. Only they didn't sleep in the same bed together, much less were they actually married.

But the nights, however, were a different story. Ace wasn't the same man once he started drinking, which he did quite a lot of in the evenings. He wasn't mean or anything though, like most men were once they knocked back that much whiskey. Only if a customer pissed him off, but to Autumn's surprise he was actually somewhat happy when he was inebriated. Or, at the very least, not quite so serious. A little looser, and far more prone to smiling, making sarcastic comments, and joking with Autumn than he ever did when sober. Far more prone to flirting with her too. 

Almost like he had a split personality or something, but Autumn started to wonder if it was more along the lines of just being who Ace really was on the inside, who came out once the Jack Daniel's stripped away his inhibitions. The man that waltzed up to the jukebox in the corner every night, after everybody left and the sign said 'closed', fed some quarters into the machine, and played old rock n roll songs by bands like the Eagles, Lynard Skynard, Steve Miller Band or Ted Nugent, though he was partial to rock ballads by Bad Company and played them the most. 

The man who sometimes banged his head, played air guitar, and saying badly along with the all lyrics to Autumn just to make her chuckle at him. Just to see her smile. Who she was pretty sure might be a bit of a romantic, though he never tried to get in her pants. The man that wasn't made of complete stone, who was just like any other, if not for that pistol under his arm. But he came alive at night, and every night he would at some point routinely walk over to the bar to lean against it, lay his deck on the countertop, and ask her to shuffle the cards. Hoping to draw that Queen of Hearts.

At one point, when he was being particularly charming in his own right, she was actually kind of hopeful too of seeing that card slid off the pile. But she never did, and Ace would then tip the remainder of his bottle of whiskey to her in salute, and head up to his apartment alone, to sort himself out in the sex department, she presumed. She'd clean up, be certain the bar was locked up tight, go to bed, then they'd get up and do it all over again. She was getting used to the life, and started to wonder if maybe it would be so bad to make this kind of life a perminant one.

She never left the bar without a member or one of the Ladies, but not because she was a prisoner at the Black Powder, but because they were the only people Ace trusted her with, and strangely it made her feel safer than she'd ever felt in her life. She was thinking about that one morning when Ace filled his pockets with his cigarettes, lighter, phone and bike key, then patted his back pocket to be certain he had his wallet, before leaving the bar to head over to a fellow member's house for whatever reason he neglected to mention. 

"You lock that door behind me, alright?" he said, and she nodded. "And remember, bar's still closed this early, so if they ain't a member or one of their women, don't let em in." 

She nodded again. He said all that because he was leaving her there by herself that day. She was kind of nervous about it, because this would be the first time since staying at the Black Powder that she would be completely alone, without Ace, Singer, Vanessa or any of the Pagans and their Ladies present. Her worst fear was that Casey or one of his family members showed up while the others were gone, but as long as she stayed inside, behind that locked door, they couldn't touch her. She was quite certain it was an irrational fear and she was just paranoid, but that didn't stop her from having it.

"Trick," Ace said, catching her attention, as her mind had drifted off.

"Huh?"

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. I just...don't like the idea of bein' here all by myself is all. It's silly, ain't it. I mean, I ain't a little kid or nothin'. I'm twenty-three years old, I shouldn't be feelin'..."

Ace stared at her for a moment with that stoney expression of his, eyes darting over her face as he contemplated something, then finally he said, "Go put your shoes on. I'm takin' ya with me."

"No it's alright," she swore, shaking her head, feeling ridiculous. "I'll be fine. I mean unless you don't trust me to be here by myself or somethin'."

"It ain't you I dont trust," he stated. 

"I'm fine, Ace. You can go without me." She'd just sneak a shot of whiskey from the bottle to calm her nerves and hotbox a cigarette or two, and she'd be fine. Perfectly fine. Part of her didn't believe she would, but she'd have to get used to being by herself and on her own eventually, if she ever got a paying job and found her own place. She'd definitely be buying a gun for protection though, just to be on the safe side. She mistakenly drummed her fingernails on the countertop, giving away her anxiety over the whole thing, and Ace frowned at her.

"Autumn."

"Yeah?"

"Go put your shoes on."

"I said I'm fine."

"I ain't gonna stand here all day and argue with ya over this shit. Now get out from behind that counter and go put your shoes on."

He hadn't raised his voice at her when he said that, and rather he spoke slower and softer with her, but his tone brokered no argument, and his expression was stern, like it was an order, and it started to piss her off. He was acting like her father or something, and Autumn didn't rightly care for it. Ace didn't own her. She wasn't his property, and it reminded her too much if her husband. Casey used to boss her around like that, with a threatening tone, and Ace behaving similarly didn't make her feel safe, but instead like she'd traded one abuser for another.

Her lip trembled, mildly afraid of getting hit for her insolence, but she lifted her chin and said, "I ain't your Property, Ace, and I don't rightly care for ya talkin' to me like that, so you just go on and head out, or neither of us are goin' anywhere."

From a moment Ace looked furious, nostrils flaring, like at any moment he'd start screaming at the top of his lungs at her, or worse, reach across the counter between them and snatch her up by the hair, but he didn't. Just said, "I told you I didn't wanna argue."

"Then stop talkin' and just go!" she snapped. She was partially angry and partically crying as she spoke, eyes watering and voice shaking. "I don't need ya babysittin' me like some fuckin' invalid! I just ain't used to bein' by myself is all! I only ever went somewhere if Casey let me, and had him breathin' down my neck the whole time! I ain't been nowhere without him in seven fuckin' years, Ace! And I know the minute I step outta that door and ain't got the club protectin' me, him or his family could find some way to get to me, and I'm just nervous about it is all! I never shoulda said nothin' in the first place about it! I shoulda just kept my mouth shut!" 

Ace took her screaming, then sucked in a breath through his nose and let it out slow, as he reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. "You coulda just said it. You ain't gotta scream it at me," he grumbled, looking like a wounded dog for a second as he dipped his chin to stick a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Autumn ducked her head. She was surprised he didn't react at all to her antics, and felt guilty for raising her voice like that. He was right, she didn't have to scream at him. She was just upset, that's all. She didn't understand how he could have so much patience with her.

"I'm sorry."

"Yep," he quipped with a curt nod as he flipped his lighter closed. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on the counter. "C'mere," he waved her closer. She didn't want to come closer. "Just come here," he sighed. She lolled her head, but then finally leaned closer, propping her elbows on the counter and leaning over it, so now they were face to face, only maybe a few inches apart. "I'm gonna tell ya somethin'," he said. He lifted her chin with his finger so she'd look him in the eye. "That man ain't gonna come anywhere near ya if he wants ta keep his entrails on the inside," he said.

She huffed at him, unconsciously tapping her right heel against her left ankle. 

"Ya ain't gotta worry about him, alright?"

"...Alright."

He lightly tapped the underside of her chin just once before he pushed away from the counter and headed toward the front entrance. 

"Come lock this door," he said as a reminder and she walked around the counter to do as he asked, locking the door after he left out of it, watching through the hazy glass as Ace started his bike. It was a pretty bike. Black with white on the side of the gas tank, and in the white was a heart, diamond, club, and spade, just like a card deck, just below the emblem that said Victory. She always thought all bikers rode Harleys. Turned out Pagans at least rode whatever the fuck they wanted, they were just more or less prejudiced against anything foreign in make. 

Particular about their music too. If it wasn't rock music, it wasn't worth listening to. Their idea of variety was bouncing between classic, hard rock, and heavy metal. She watched Ace ride away with a frown, then stared at the view of the open highway for awhile, sunlight warming her face, before heading back to the counter to thumb through that morning's paper for a time. The Black Powder didn't have a television set of any kind. Vanessa said it was because several years ago someone busted the flat screen that used to hang on the wall, and since no one watched it much anyway, the club never bought another one. 

When it got closer to lunch time, and she heard her stomach grumble, she headed to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat. She was just about to make a turkey sandwich when she heard a car pull in. Thinking it was one of the old ladies stopping by, she set down the bread bag and headed back to the front room to unlock the door, but froze solid in panic when she saw an all too familiar blonde head glancing around at the empty parking lot before jiggling the door handle to see if it was locked. Autumn's hands trembled as Casey dug a paper clip from his pocket to pick the lock.

He was smart. It was why he never called the cops or pressed charges on Ace the night he pulled his gun on him. It was why he sent the city police inside the bar to try to get her out, and away from the Pagans. It was also why he'd waited until he saw the parking lot completely empty of any and all vehicles before he tried to break in. Because he was smart. He knew that he could never get inside otherwise, not without landing himself in hot water. Autumn freaked when she saw him jam the paper clip inside the key hole to try to wrench it open, shouting, "Casey?!" in fright, making him look up. 

He was trying to break in when Ace was nowhere in sight. He held his hand up to the glass and peered into it, saying, "Autumn? Autumn!" He pressed against the glass. "Hey baby," he said, smiling a little, looking a bit impatient as he said, "Hey why don't you open the door for me huh? Just let me in so we can talk. I just need to talk to you, please." She back up in step. "Hey I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just want to talk baby, I swear. I'm sorry about everything, okay? I'm not even mad anymore. We can work it out, alright? It's all water under the bridge. Just let me in so we can talk."

She didn't want to let him in. "Go away, Casey!"

"Autumn please!"

"I filed a restraining order! If you don't leave right now, I'm calling the cops!" 

It was a lie, she couldn't call the cops, because the Black Powder didn't have a land line, but she said it anyway, hoping he would leave. 

He glanced behind him again, like he was checking if the coast was still clear. "Autumn open the door...I said open the door, goddamn it!" She flinched when he slapped the glass in anger. "You'd better open this door right fucking now or I swear to God Autumn! I will fucking kill you!" She backed up behind the counter as he tried one more time to force the lock open, but evidently he was shit at picking locks because the clip snapped in half and he cursed. "Goddamn it!" He left the door and for a moment she thought he was gone, until she saw him reappear outside the side entrance.

It was locked as well, so he left it, darting around to the back of the bar, probably searching for the back door. She quickly fled to the kitchen, hoping she remembered to lock that door as well, reaching for a kitchen knife in one of the drawers. She'd just gotten to the door to doublecheck to make sure it was locked when Casey burst through it. She'd mistakenly left it unlocked and never even noticed. He surged forward and wrestled the knife out of her grip, then slapped her to the floor. "You stupid fucking bitch!" he growled at her, gripping the knife. 

"You have any fucking idea of the shit I've went through because of you?!" he raged at her, and all she could do was scoot across the floor on her back to get away from him as he screamed. "They threw my ass in the fucking county lock up! I spent three fucking days in a fucking holding cell because of you!" Oh big fucking deal. Three days. What a pussy. She tried to kick and punch when he grabbed her by the hair, but stopped moving when he pointed the knife at her throat, the tip digging into her skin. Faintly she could hear motorcycles rumbling in the distance, and hoped and prayed it was one of the Pagans and not just some passers by.

Casey dragged her to her feet and held her by the hair. "First you kill my kid, then you fuck all my friends, and now you're fucking the Pagans too?!" he growled at her as he pressed the knife into her skin. "You don't belong to these fucking people, Autumn, you're MY wife! You belong to me, you fucking hear me, you fucking piece of shit whore?! You're fucking _mine_ , gaddamn it, and your ass is coming home with me right now." The sound of engines roaring got louder and then stopped suddenly, meaning the bikes shut off. "Shit," Casey cursed, eyes on the entrance to the kitchen. "Fucking shit!"

A posse of bikers were in the front parking lot, and probably already spotted his black Jeep Cherokee idling out front.

He started to drag her to the back door, knife to her throat like he planned to hold her hostage and use her as some kind of bargaining chip, so she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"ACE!!"


	16. Chapter 16

Casey got the back door open, taking the knife away from her throat just long enough to drag her through it, arms wrapping around her next so that he could haul her across the back lot with him. Just as Singer and Vanessa came around one side of the building, Otto and Andrea coming out the back door not long after, the four of them having heard her shouting. "Shit," Singer cursed, when he saw the kitchen knife pressed to her neck. "Let her go, man," he said to Casey. "Come on now, don't be stupid. Just let her go, and we can all walk away from this."

Casey wrenched her in front of him, knife to her throat once more, backing up a few steps. "Back off. I said back the fuck off!" he barked, as he'd slowly been edging closer to him and Singer stopped in his tracks. "I'll do it, man! I'll slit her fucking throat right fucking now! I swear to God I will!"

Singer raised both hands defensively. "Just take it easy man," he said. Then he looked at Autumn, who was shaking and sobbing, hoping and praying they wouldn't let Casey leave with her, and wondering where Ace was when she needed him. "It's gonna be alright, Autumn," Singer said to her. Casey backed up a few more steps, toward the far side of the building, dragging her with him, and she panicked. If Casey got her back to his house, she'd never get away again. He'd lock them both inside the house and call the police if the Pagans set one foot on the property. 

Or maybe he really would just kill her, because he'd rather see her dead if he couldn't have her all to himself. He was crazy enough to think he could get away with defying the emergency protective order the magistrate put in place, so maybe he was just crazy enough to do that too. Autumn choked out another sob, as Casey took just a few more steps, edging closer to the far corner of the building, when Autumn caught Singer's eye movement. For just a fraction of a second, he looked over Casey's shoulder, so quickly she almost didn't catch it, but then she understood why Ace hadn't been anywhere in sight.

Casey may have been smart, but Ace was smarter. When he heard the shouting, he'd chosen to go around the other side of the building to cut him off, and was now behind Casey, sneaking up on him. She put two and two together when she heard the distinct _chuh-chick_ sound his Baretta M9 semi-automatic pistol made when he slid the barrel and loaded a round in the chamber. Casey froze when he heard it, knowing that just behind him Ace stood, gun pressed to the back of his head. 

Then in a low voice Ace murmured, "Lemme ask ya somethin', boy. You ready to die for this woman? 'Cause I'm more than willin' ta kill for her."

Autumn closed her eyes a breathed a sigh of relief.

With a shaky voice, Casey said, "Y-You ain't gonna shoot me."

"The last man to say those words to me was never found again. Cops are still lookin' for the body. Now drop that knife."

Casey debated for a minute before slowly lifting the knife from her neck and dropping it on the ground, then he finally let her go. Autumn wrenched away from him and made her way over to where Singer and Vanessa stood, turning back to see Casey's murderous expression. He raised both hands in surrender, and Autumn watched as Ace flipped the safety back on and holstered his pistol, then grabbed him by the arm. Vanessa put her arm around Autumn, and she and Andrea waited with her while Ace, Singer and Otto dragged Casey inside, then followed them into the bar.

They shoved him down into one of the many empty chairs and Singer and Otto hovered nearby like bodyguards while Ace plopped down in a chair adjacent to his, just like the first night she ran into the Black Powder. When Ace sat Casey down and made him drink with him, then made him pick a card to see if he'd make it out of the bar alive that night. Seemed history was destined to repeat itself, as Ace said, "Trick, whiskey and two glasses, if you'd please." Autumn left Vanessa and Andrea's side to fetch his bottle of Jack Daniel's and two shot glasses from the shelf.

She brought them over to the table and set them down. "C'mere," he said to her, patting his leg, meaning for her to sit right there on his lap. Casey could not have looked more murderous than he did just then, as Autumn gingerly sat on Ace's lap, looping an arm around his shoulders, feeling his own curl around her side. But something within her relaxed in that moment, bizarrely enough. Though Casey was only three feet away from her, she'd never felt safer, than in Ace's comforting embrace. Casey was enraged, even tried to get up, but Singer was there to shove him back down.

"You alright?" Ace asked her and she nodded. "Wontchya pour some whiskey in those glasses."

She leaned forward and picked up the bottle, untwisting the cap. She was still a bit shaken up after what just happened, but dutifully she poured a shot's worth of Jack in each glass, then set the bottle down. Ace knocked his back, but instead of sliding the second closer to Casey, he held it out to Autumn. She was all too happy to take it, and swallowed it down, the bite of the whiskey catching in her throat and she shuddered at the alcohol washed over her, but a few seconds later she was significantly calmer and set the glass on the table before settling back into Ace's arms.

The irony that the man who was supposed to protect her was sitting across from her looking like he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands, and that the man she would have initially thought would be a danger to her was currently stroking her side and keeping her husband at bay. "You're right," he said to Casey. "I ain't gonna shoot ya." He reached to splay his vest open again and drew his pistol back out. "I'm gonna let your wife do it," he added, and Autumn's heart drummed faster. He held the pistol out to her. "Flip the safety off and point it at him, but don't shoot him yet."

Autumn took the gun from Ace and did precisely as he'd instructed, flipping down the little switch on the side with her thumb, so now the switch said 'fire', and she pointed it at Casey's face. Singer and Otto made sure they were clear of Autumn's shot and Casey went white, tears stinging his eyes. Sadly, she'd barely hesitated to aim a loaded pistol at him. "Let me ask you somethin'," Ace said to him. "You think your wife still loves you?" Casey didn't answer that. Just scrunched his face up a little in a grimace, trying to hold the tears back. As if he knew the cold hard truth to that. 

"Wontchya look in her eyes, and tell me if ya think she'll really do it."

Casey's eyes met Autumn's and it was like he knew, and for that split second, Autumn felt something indescribable churning with in her gut. Her stomach flipped. Because she _would_. It was a terrible, awful thing to want, but she knew, could feel it in her very soul, that if Ace instructed her to, she'd pull the trigger. Maybe the club would let her take the fall for it, and she'd spend the rest of her life in prison, or maybe they'd mop up the blood, hide the body, and this would never be spoken of again, but she couldn't care either way. After seven years of living in fear of this man, it would finally be over.

Casey would never touch her again.

Something good and pure effectively died in Autumn just then, as her eyes dimmed, her face went cold and dark, and she looked upon Casey with no remorse whatsoever. Casey's lip trembled and he slowly nodded. Yeah, he knew she would do it, without hesitation.

"Well, we're gonna find out," Ace told him. He shifted a little in his seat to draw his pack of playing cards from a pocket in his vest, then he slid the cards out of the box and laid them on the table between them. "I warned you if you ever came back in here, to be ready to try your luck again. So you're gonna cut that deck of playin' cards, and you're gonna pick one up. If you draw the Ace of Spades? I'm gonna let your pretty wife blow your brains outta your skull, then we're gonna dig the bullet out. The cops ain't ever gonna find your body, and ain't nobody here is gonna say a word."

He nudged the cards across the table toward Casey, who's bottom lip trembled, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. 

"Now go on an' cut that deck, son."

It took Casey forever to do it, to finally work up the nerve to stretch his hand forward and split the deck of cards. His hand shook as it hovered over the bottom half of the deck. He only had one in fifty-two chances to draw the winning card, but one seemed to be enough to set him on edge. Any one of those cards could be the one, and if Autumn saw an Ace of Spades flipped over, she'd pull the trigger. Her index finger hovered impatiently over it, finding herself hoping and desperately praying to see that card, just so the nightmare would be over, but it was also satisfying just to see that fear flash in his eyes.

It made up for every time he ever threatened her, every time he ever put his hands on her, made her so afraid to even breathe wrong in his presence, because what he felt right that second as his fingers touched the playing cards, was the very same feeling Autumn felt every day spent in that house with him, living in his shadow. What she felt the day the police came to her house, bought the lies that spewed from Casey's lips, then turned and left her there in his home, telling her to never call the police again for no good reason like that, otherwise they'd just arrest her.

The feeling she got when Casey would hold her at night, arms wrapped around her frame.

But to Autumn's disappointment, he finally drew a card from the deck, and it was the 4 of Clubs. Casey breathed a sigh of relief, and Autumn's shoulders slumped. "Well that's kinda disappointin'," she mumbled as she switched the safety back on and carefully handed Ace his pistol. He chuckled a little, and so did the others. Casey started to get up from the table again, but Singer put a hand on his shoulder. "Oh don't think you're walkin' away from this," he said to Casey. "Were still callin' the Sheriff's Department and your ass is most definitely goin' back to jail."

Casey flexed his jaw and scowled at that.

Ace leaned back in his seat and fished in his pocket for some change. He held some quarters out to Autumn. "Wontchya put those in the jukebox and play us a song." She nodded, accepting the change, and got up from Ace's lap. Her knees were a little weak still, especially after the intensity of the whole situation, but she strode over to the jukebox and fed it with quarters from her hand, then eyed the selection of songs for a moment, having enough credits for a handful of songs. She selected the first, and smirked a little at everyone's reaction when it started to play.

The song Bad Company, by the band Bad Company.

"Now that's my kinda woman," Ace quipped with a chuckle as she walked back over to the table. She poured him another shot of whiskey, shooting Casey a smug look before walking away. She joined the Ladies at the bar, accepting the beer Vanessa handed her from the cooler, and turned back to watch Ace bob his head a little along with the song as he lit a cigarette from his pack. Singer and Otto searched for soemthing to tie Casey to the chair until the cops arrived, then Singer put a bandana around his mouth so he couldnt talk. Then the boys joined Ace at the table, partaking in whiskey with him.

"I mean no offence but personally I think the version by Five Finger Death Punch is better," Otto commented, in regards to the music. 

"Yeah and that's why we don't let you pick the music," Singer chuckled, and Otto rolled his eyes.

They waited for the thirty minutes it would take the deputies to arrive, then Autumn told them what happened. She left out the part of Ace pointing a gun at him, the part about almost shooting him too, and the others denied any and all knowledge of a gun when Casey swore up and down they were going to shoot him. With five witnesses to contest that there had never been a gun, and the red marks on Autumn's neck to prove he'd held a knife up to it, plus Casey being there in the first place, which was a voilation of his restraining order, the deputies held his claim as inadmissible, and told him that was for a judge to decide.

And since he'd violated the restraining order, which would also revoke his bond, he would be going straight from the Black Powder to the regional jail for processing, and wouldn't be getting out again until his court hearing. The odds were definitely stacked against him on this one. Autumn hoped and prayed he ended up being somebody's bitch in prison. But then, after the deputies left with Casey in handcuffs, her thoughts gravitated to other things. Now that she was free of Casey for a good long while, she wondered if maybe it was time she start thinking about what the next step would be. Maybe start thinking about the future.

Sometime later, after Casey had been taken into custody, and his Jeep had been impounded, Ace stepped outside to make a phone call, and an hour after that, the President showed up unannounced at the bar. He strode right up to where Autumn stood behind it, peeling the label off her beer bottle while nearby Vanessa and Andrea chatted, smoking cigarettes, and the boys sat around the table playing a card game. Poker, she assumed. Slater walked up and set a plastic bag on the counter in front of her, and pulled two boxes out of the bag.

The first that he set in front of her was the factory box for a cellphone, which he pulled out and said, "Here." He handed it to her, and Autumn blinked in confusion. He pointed and added, "I had Monica program all the phone numbers for the members and the Ladies in there for ya. You ever need need help when Ace ain't around, you just call em up and any one of em will help ya out. And if for whatever reason none of em answer, or are otherwise unavailable, it's got the number for the Sheriff's Department and State Police in there too." He then pulled the second box out of the bag and set it down.

"And this here's a .380," he said as she opened the box and stared down at a pistol, similar to Ace's but smaller and a light tan and black in color. "Now it's already got one in the chamber, so all ya have to do is flip the safety off, aim and fire... _In that order_ ," he stressed with a chuckle. "You keep that under the counter, or wherever you might be able to have it close at hand if ya ever need it." Autumn swallowed, nodding a little, then closed the box and set it on the shelf beneath the counter. 

"I-I dont have any money ta pay ya for this-"

"Don't worry about that," he assured. "Ace and I already worked it out. And as long as you keep pitchin' in and helpin' the Ladies, the club's gonna pay your cell phone bill."

"I don't know how ta thank ya."

"Don't thank me," he chuckled, glancing back at Ace, who evidently felt the President's eyes on him just then, because he looked up from his cards. "Ace told me what happened. Reckon he feels bad about not leavin' you his pistol, 'cause he sure made a point ta get ya one."

Autumn watched Ace turn back to the cards in his hand, and puff on his cigarette. "It's my fault," she told Slater. "I didn't realize the kitchen door was unlocked, and that's how Casey got inside."

"Don't rightly matter," he said, shaking his head. "Ace shouldn't have left ya here by yourself without a gun and that husband of yours runnin' around out on bond." Autumn sighed. That was kind of her fault too, because she was the one that encouraged Ace to leave without her, instead of going with him when he offeres to let her tag along. "But ya ain't gotta worry about that happenin' again. Long as you're here, the club's gonna take care of ya. And Ace ain't gonna let that dipshit slip from his hands a third time. He ever starts trouble again, Ace won't leave it up to chance next time around."

Autumn nodded at that, saying, "Thank you. For...well, for everything I guess."

"No problem, baby girl," he winked. "You tell Ace his ass is gonna have to bring ya out to the house soon so you and the Missus can get together and...hell, I dunno, do whatever it is you women do," he laughed, and so did she. He lightly slapped the table just once with a nod, then walked away, making his way over to the table to talk to the men before he left the bar. Autumn relaxed her tense posture entirely and finished her beer. As long as she stayed there, she'd have protection. Even had her own phone now so she could even call her family if she wanted.

Maybe just to tell them she missed them, and that she was sorry she ran off and got married.

Sometime later, as she stood next to Vanessa behind the counter, puffing on a cigarette while Ness counted the drawer, as the bar would be opening soon, she made her decision. She'd yet to find a good paying job, or a stable place to live, and she remembered that Vanessa had offered to auction her to the highest bidder if she wanted after the next club meeting. She wanted to stay, she wanted to live under the Pagans' roof, to be provided for, and to have their protection, so she reckoned she ought to go through with it. She didn't have to, and it was kind of medieval, but she'd made up her mind.

"I wanna do it," she said to Vanessa, who blinked up at her in surprise, as the statement came out of nowhere.

"Do what?"

"I wanna be auctioned."

"You serious?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah I think I wanna go through with it."

"What changed your mind?" Vanessa asked, eyes briefly flitting to Ace nearby, before they settled on Autumn, who shrugged, leaning aginst the counter.

"Well, I don't wanna leave," she said. "I know I ain't gotta be married to one of em to stay or anything but...well, I just got to thinkin'...everybody tells me I'd be cut out for it, so I reckon maybe they're right. Maybe this sounds silly, but...maybe bein' a Pagan woman is what I'm meant to do." She flipped her hair over one shoulder and added, chuckling, "I just maybe don't wanna fuck every single one of 'em to do it." Vanessa snickered at that. "But just one of em? Yeah. Yeah I think I wanna."

She didn't mean for her eyes to gravitate to Ace as she said that, but they did. 

Vanessa didn't seem to notice though, just stamped out her cigarette in the tray with a shrug and a nod in understanding. More than likely she wouldn't even end up with Ace. Just anyone of the Pagans that didn't already have a P.O. and thought she was worth the trouble. But she'd sooner trust one of them with her life than any other man, especially after what happened that day. So she'd do it. She'd become a Pagan Lady, just like Vanessa and Andrea, and she'd take good care of that man, long as he took good care of her. She'd keep her mouth shut about the club too.

"Alright Then," Vanessa nodded, lacing her fingers together. "I'll have the Ladies set it up, and we'll tell the boys to stick around after the meeting 'cause we got a little surprise for em." She winked and Autumn felt her face turn red. "Looks like your ass is gettin' hitched come tomorrow, baby girl," Vanessa chuckled, nudging her shoulder with her own.

Autumn snorted. "I reckon so."


	17. Chapter 17

Autumn was instructed to wait outside in the parking lot with the rest of the women until the meeting was concluded, so it was only Ace, Singer, and Otto sitting in the bar the following day as the rest of the members slowly but surely filed in. If any members brought their women, they stayed outside, standing and talking in groups by the entrance, or sitting in their cars while the doors were locked. Currently their chapter was intermediately numbered in the dozens, around forty or so members in total. 

It used to be bigger, and the bar would be packed wall to wall whenever a meeting was held, but at present only maybe a third of the seats were occupied. Ace stayed in his corner in the booth and flipped cards as members poured in, unlit cigarette pinched between his lips. He'd dutifully listen in on proceedings, but as he no longer acted as Enforcer and had his task of running the bar to fill his time, he had no real interest in club affairs, aside from staying updated on current policy as to avoid any infractions. 

But he was interested to hear just how much had changed while he was locked up. Slater hadn't gone into too great of detail beforehand, but he and Singer mentioned in passing that the club had done away with the majority of its illegal operations. They used to be involved with nearly everything a man could think of. They truly put the 'outlaw' in Pagan Outlaws. Anything from purchase and distribution of narcotics, the sale and transport of arms and explosives, to sex trafficking, money laundering, and even contract killing. 

Not on such a small scale like it was nowadays either. Autumn wrinkled that tiny nose of hers at the tip jar, but she hadn't the faintest idea of the major prostitution ring the club ran once upon a time, and would be shocked to ever learn of it. Most Pagan bars and stripclubs were fronts for whorehouses where anyone, not just members, could get in on the action for the right price. Even dealing in sex slavery. There was no limit to how far some chapters would go, and more often than not the girls were underage as well. 

If their silence couldn't be bought, they were threatened, or sometimes beaten to be kept in line, and it was hard rooting out the problematic members responsible for abuse and coercion, and putting them out of commission. Some chapters didn't even care. If it made the club money and filled the treasury, the Cabinets would allow it, provided members didn't get caught. They harrassed the towns, and purposefully drew the attention of the police just to strike fear in citizens and gain notoriety as outlaws. 

Luckily most chapters cleaned up their act, and now lived up to the proper Pagan standard, but evidently not all of them, which drew attention from the government, and entire branches had been apprehended. At least two whole chapters on class A felony indictments. There were only maybe a handful left, and those that remained were tired of being arrested just for wearing a Pagan patch and being targeted merely for association with known criminals, whether or not they'd actually commited a crime. 

The Presidents of the remaining chapters had decided to cut out of a lot of the club's profiteering to spare themselves the headache. At present, maybe a handful of members in their chapter dealt some drugs on the side, and knew where to get illegal handguns for the right price, but most if not all of the club's laundering schemes were cut out completely. 

A President of a neighboring chapter, a man by the name of Calvin Jameson, aka Snake Eyes, had taken over Robert Morrison's chapter and put forward the vote of cutting out completely from the sex trafficking business, and letting the women run their own operations on the side, giving the club a cut of their profit in exchange for protection, which worked out much better in the long run, and effectively resolved the issues of abuse. Slater took a liking to Jameson's way of thinking and followed his lead when elected where a lot of policies were concerned. 

By the time Ace had been completely clued in on the reduction of operations connected to the club taking place, he'd been amazed. Sounded a little less like the club was 'pretending' to be on the straight and narrow, and more like the club had just gone straight, denying any affiliation with illegal operations on the side. Instead of laundering the profit through club owned businesses, most members paid into the treasury from their own pockets, like any legitimate union, and their memberships were no longer earned through the club's 'trial by fire' that had replaced the tradition atop Disciple Hill.

If a member killed, it was in self defence, or in defence of a brother, but not necessarily what earned their patch. Most if not all of the members present at that day's meeting earned their patches by committing petty crimes of various nature and taking the fall. By doing their time, proving they were willing to take the blame for the club, and wouldn't roll over for cops, or implicate other members. If any of them had fired a gun, it wasn't at the President's orders, and Ace highly doubted very many of them even carried guns nowadays. Ace and a select few out of a dozen might be the only ones. 

Hell, more than likely half of them had never even taken a life, and most if not all serious convictions were nothing more than aggrevated assault, or assault with a deadly weapon.

Times had truly changed.

Not that Ace had any complaint, but this wasn't the Pagan Outlaws he remembered, and far from it.

Most of the current affairs discussed at the meeting was old business and of no concern to Ace, so he'd said not a word during the meeting until close to the end, when one of the members proposed new business to discuss and dragged Ace's ass into it. The member's name was Farley, and Ace only knew this because he'd seen the name on his vest. He was maybe in his mid to late thirties, had a shaved head, a patch of a goatee on his chin, and a beer gut.

Ace had seen in him the bar, but never spoke to the man. He seemed like the type to really only care about the free booze and easy women, but not necessarily about the club itself.

Nothing wrong with that, long as he kept paying his dues and took his orders from the Cabinet, but Ace didn't rightly care too much for the man. He just looked like the type to have no honor or integrity, much less any care to uphold the Pagan values both in and outside club meetings. He stood up, and instead of addressing the Prez or any of the Cabinet, his bone to pick was with Ace directly as he asked him, "Why'd ya take Cheyenne's jacket?" Ace furrowed his brow and huffed at the man.

His beef with Ace was over a goddamned woman of all things? 

"Cause she was stealin'," he said simply, then flipped over the next card in the deck. A 3 of Hearts, which he proceeded to lay over the 4 of Clubs in a middle row, then flipped the next card. Farley scoffed at his answer.

"Bull fuckin' shit," he groused. "She's been workin' here for ten fuckin' years-"

"Precisely," Ace interrupted sharply, slapping down his next card in irritation. "Which means she's probably been stealin' from the club for ten fuckin' years, and your ignorant fuckin' ass has been lettin' her get away with the shit."

"Prez you're really gonna let him kick her outta the Ladies over ten fuckin' dollars?!"

"Seventeen," Ace corrected, but Farley got this look on his face like it only furthered his point.

Slater rolled his eyes like he found it just as ridiculous to stand there and argue over a woman - a thief at that - then he said, "If Ace says she was stealin' then I'll take his word for it." Farley opened his mouth, but then closed it again when Slater added, "A thief is a fuckin' thief, brother, and I will not tolerate theft from this bar. Now I put Ace in charge of it for a reason, Farley, and kickin' Cheyenne to the curb is just part of the job. Ya gotta problem with that? Then you might as well gimme the keys to your bike right now and you and I'll go out back and settle this right and proper." 

Farley pinched his lips in a frown at the threat of taking him out back and duking it out with him.

But he wasn't ready to let it go so he said, "She's just fallen on hard times, man, and she's tryna take care of her kid."

"Ain't my kid, ain't my problem. She's needin' extra cash, she can earn it just like any other Pagan woman. The money in that cash drawer is the Pagan's money, Farley. She was stealin' from every goddamn one of us. Don't rightly matter if it's seventeen bucks or seventeen hundred dollars. Now you wanna keep payin' her bills? You go right the fuck ahead. But she ain't settin' one goddamn foot in this bar ever again, and she sure as hell ain't wearin' that jacket either." She probably never even should've been wearing it in the first place, but Ace wasn't about to comment on that.

Though he could remember a time when Pagan women were held to a much higher standard than nowadays. Didn't rightly matter what they looked like, and hell, it didn't even matter much how good they were in bed either. A cunt is cunt, and if you're drunk enough, what's attached to it isn't going to matter much. But what mattered more was a woman's loyalty to the club, and a man's ability to trust that woman with his life if necessary.

Because a woman's willingness to lie for the club if need be was sometimes a man's saving grace, or his ticket to life in prison. If a woman couldn't be trusted, it could be life or death for a Pagan.

But he wouldn't comment on Cheyenne's integrity, or lack thereof. Instead it was Singer who piped up and remarked on the subject. "Oh hell, Prez, he's just takin' up for her 'cause she's the only one of the women that'll fuck his ugly ass." The whole club was in an uproar of outrageous laughter at that, and even Ace snorted at the comment.

But when Farley got pissed and turned his rage on Singer, who stood up in his seat and balled his fists, more than ready to take up for himself, it was just instinct on Ace's part that he should rise from his booth as well and splay his vest open as if to draw his pistol. He didn't need to though. The quiet murmur around them came to a complete halt, and Farley stopped dead in his tracks. It was just old habit on Ace's part really. As an Enforcer, if a fight broke out during a meeting, they were tasked with breaking it up.

Out of the corner of his eye he even saw Slater straighten his stance from where he'd been leaning against the wall.

As if it was just instinct for him too. 

Just like old times, so maybe not everything was so different after all.

It was just like a Mexican standoff for a moment, like some old western film as Ace and Farley glared at one another, Singer nearby glancing between the two, and the other members waiting eagerly to see what happened next. After a full ten seconds of silence, Ace flipped his vest closed and slowly sat back down, reaching for his cards. Just rising to his feet had been enough to get his point across, he was certain.

"Women come and go, brother," he said to Farley. "Where ya found Cheyenne, you can find a dozen more just like her. Reckon they'll be far better lookin' and half as much of headache too." Ace resumed his monotonous game of solitaire and added, "If you're gonna argue over a fuckin' woman, at least make certain she's worth the trouble."

"Oh so she ain't worth the trouble is she?" Farley smarted at him. "So she ain't never done nothin' for the club? Least she'll suck somebody's dick. You wanna talk about useless? How bout that little Trick you've been keepin' around the bar. Stuck up little bitch won't even put out for nobody-"

At Autumn's mention, any shred of Ace's composure effectively died, and he rose from his seat once more, nostrils flaring, and this time it took the President intervening to keep him from unloading his clip. "Whoa, whoa, Ace, take it easy," he said as he'd gotten so far as to pull the pistol out of its holster, though he didn't aim it at Farley yet. Just held it, fighting the urge to use it. In hindsight, perhaps it was a bit foolish to get so worked up over a damn woman - even if that woman was Autumn - when just moments ago Ace himself had been thinking how needless an argument over a woman even was. 

But Farley looked smug, like Ace getting pissed was precisely the reaction he'd been looking for.

He'd be shaking in his boots right now if he knew half the shit Ace had done for the club over the years.

Slater sighed at them both. "Look, let's just calm the fuck down, and let the whole thing go. It ain't even worth it."

Then one of the members piped up with, "Oh come on man, let em fight, it was just startin' to get interesting."

"Yeah I say let em kill each other," another agreed, chuckling, and Ace huffed a little. 

"-I got fifty bucks on Farley-"

"-Shit my money's on Ace. My cousin used to tell stories about him-"

The members continued to mumble, throwing in snide remarks.

"Figures," Ace murmured to himself. "Bunch o' wisecracks thinkin' everything's a goddamn joke." 

But only Slater and Singer themselves knew how close Ace really was to doing precisely that, and putting a bullet in Farley. He curled his lip and stuffed his pistol back in the holster inside his vest, then he sat back down, reaching for his cigarettes. He could feel the eyes of every member in the room on his profile as he lit one, took a long drag, and forced himself back into the menial act of flipping over card after card to match each with a corrisponding card on the table as to keep from blowing a hole in Farley's head. 

He could imagine what some were thinking. Their disdain for a man who'd pull a gun on his own brother. Of course Farley himself was no brother of Ace's. He hardly knew the man. A new member, that had never even prospected until after Ace had been locked away. A stranger, that Ace couldn't trust as far as he could throw Farley's ignorant ass, if he would defend a useless bitch like Cheyenne. But it was a stupid reason to get pissed. All just because he'd called Autumn a bitch. But Ace didn't think anyone else would defend her, except maybe Singer. Otto too maybe. He was a decent kid.

But Ace just couldn't figure out why it had pissed him off so damned much to hear that. He liked her same as the next man, certainly wouldn't mind getting his hands on that nice little body of hers too. But it was just a woman. Just a goddamn woman. Though luckily the argument was all but forgotten after a time, and aside from the occasional glare from Farley nearby, it was like the instance never took place. The club finished up the meeting, discussing any more relevant business before parting ways. Some not to return until the next meeting.

But as people were rising from their seats, some chatting with one another still, but a few intent on immediately making their way to their bikes, the Prez halted them and said, "Now, before ya rush off, Vanessa asked if everybody would stick around after the meeting because the Ladies have a surprise for y'all."

This sparked curiosity, as Slater went to unlock the front door, letting the women back in the bar now that the meeting was concluded, and they filed in one after another. Ace had no idea what this was about. Neither his sister or her husband made mention of it.

The women gathered near the counter, some of them taking their seats on the barstools, and Ace didn't fail to notice how Autumn was apart from the rest, next to his sister who had her arm about her shoulder. She looked apprehensive for some reason, though Ace couldn't make a guess as to why.

"Alright gentlemen, lemme have your attention," Vanesssa said over the crowd. "I need all the men that do not already have P.O.s to gather on this side of the room." She gestured to the opposite side closest to the jukebox. "And all the married men, y'all can stay where you are."

The men separated, per his sister's request and Slater, Singer and a few others stayed in their seats while all the unmarried members gathered on the far side of the room.

"The fuck is this shit," Ace mumbled under his breath.

"That includes you too, Ace," Vanessa told him and he furrowed his brow.

"I'm fine where I am," he grumbled, then turned back to his cards. Vanessa scoffed at him, rolling her eyes and mumbling, "Whatever then."

Then louder she said, "Alright boys, the Ladies have a little somethin' for ya this afternoon...This pretty little collie here is lookin' to get herself a Pagan man."

Ace paused cards in hand at those words, then his eyes slid to Autumn nearby, narrowing in concern. 

On the far side of the room the men whistled, knowing precisely what that meant, and for a split second Ace's heart thumped in his chest, wondering what exactly his sister could be up to, then flexed his jaw when he heard, "Yep, ya heard me right, this pretty little angel is lookin' ta get hitched by the end of the hour, and one of you lucky men gets ta take her home as your new P.O., 'cause we're gonna have ourselves an auction."

The members were all showing interest now, and Ace looked up to see them eyeing Autumn appreciatively and cat calling her. Autumn flushed at all the attention, nervously chewing her lip.

If Ace could be any more shocked his heart would stop completely. First, surprised that the club would even allow this kind of bullshit, and second, that Autumn would even agree to it. Did she not understand what it meant to be a man's Property? Had Vanessa not explained that shit? It wasn't anything like just being one of the typical hang-arounds that fucked for cash, that could come and go just as they pleased and talk to the men however they damn well wanted to.

Being a man's Property was like being married to them, only worth more than some flimsy marriage license in their eyes. It was for life too. Once a woman put a man's name on her, that shit was perminant. It meant not only would she take a bullet for him, but he'd take one for her too. He would put her above any other, next to the club itself in value, and nothing short of a bullet would tear them apart.

Ace could hardly believe the club would turn something so meaningful to a Pagan into a mockery like this. A fucking auction? They didn't do that kind if shit when Ace was an Enforcer. Granted, nowadays a woman didn't have to fuck each and every Pagan to be somebody's old lady, and they only had to have permission from the Prez to be somebody's P.O., but this was a step above and beyond the absurd in Ace's eyes.

And Autumn agreed to this?

Better yet, Slater allowed this shit?

"We'll start the bidding at a hundred dollars," Vanessa spoke, essentially putting a dollar price on Autumn's worth as a woman, and Ace's frown deepened.

When he really thought about it, he could almost understand why Autumn would agree to it. Belonging to a man was perminant. Which meant she'd have perminant protection by the club. Eventually she would've gotten on her own two feet, gotten a job and found a place, but no longer living under the Pagan's roof meant she was no longer their problem. Ace might still come running if she ever gave him a call, because she was a good woman, but not all of them would go out of their way for a woman they weren't responsible for. She'd have a stable means of support as well.

If she needed anything, even cash, she could go to her old man for that, and get whatever she needed, no questions asked, long as she took care of him too, and kept her mouth shut about anything she might learn about the club. Autumn wouldn't have to worry about a goddamned thing. One of the members threw down a hundred dollar bill, then another bid 125. The bidding slowly increased, to 150, then 175, and Ace's heart pounded. He abandoned his game for a moment to watch out of the corner of his eye as the men made their bids on her. 

Some didn't even bid at all, probably because they didn't want the responsibility, no matter how pretty she was. Some looked all too eager to bid on her, however, just wanting to get a piece of that nice ass. Couldn't hardly give a rat's ass about her, just wanted to get their rocks off, and seized the opportunity to get their hands on her. Maybe they'd float her some cash, but Ace wondered how many of them would really take care of her. Truly provide for her. Give her a home and a good life.

Hell, Farley was bidding the highest so far, with five hundred dollars, and sneaking Ace a glance that told him he only bid just to piss him off and for no other reason.

Ace flicked his teeth against his lip in agitation. He didn't think any of them would hurt her, but he highly doubted any if them would even give two shits about her. It was a fucking sport to them. They'd regret it in the long run when push came to shove and they'd actually have to take responsibility for her, and needed to defend her. Could he really live with himself if he let Autumn get saddled with some brainless dick only thinking with the head he had down south?

He really didn't think he could, but neither did he want to get saddled with a woman either. Plus he was far too old and set in his ways for a woman like her. A man like him might only serve make her more miserable.

But...he'd never let anything happen to her though.

He'd kill for her, even take a bullet for her too.

She'd be safe with him.

Ace reached to pick up a card from the deck, and bizarrely he flipped over the Queen of Hearts.

"Five hundred dollars going once...Going twice..."

Ace sighed, staring down at that card. 

Then he opened his big fat mouth.

"Ten thousand."


	18. Chapter 18

The entire bar was in an uproar when they heard the dollar amount uttered from Ace's lips, and Singer swore under his breath. He'd half suspected his friend would get in on the bidding at some point, because even though he didn't seem inclined to sleep with her, Ace became somewhat attached to Autumn over the course of the last week, but Singer would never guess he'd drop ten grand on the table for her. Hell, he didn't even know Ace had that much money stocked away. Must've had it stored somewhere while he was locked up the last ten years, because Slater wasn't paying him cash to manage the bar.

He'd thought the whole auction thing was ridiculous to start with, ever since Vanessa clued him in on what the women were planning after the meeting that day. Went on and on about it, so it was hard for him to not hear about it at some point, even if he couldn't care less. They'd had it all planned out, one of the Ladies even had a wedding cake sitting in the back seat of their car for after the ceremony, and Vanessa had made Autumn her own Ladies vest to wear, provided someone bid on her, with her name on the back, just like the other women. Didn't say 'Autumn' though. 

Evidently, all the women remembered the night she made every member in the bar draw that stupid playing card, and decided to call her Queen. It stuck, and while Ace still called her Trick, all the women took to calling her Queen, and the First Lady thought it was 'cute'. So that was the name sewn in bright red letters surrounded by little heart symbols on the back of the denim vest Andrea tucked in a bag along with a patch for every unmarried member that said P.O. and their name, to be added on the vest. Singer chuckled lightly and shook his head while the other members cursed.

Ten thousand dollars.

_Ten fucking thousand dollars._

And for ten grand Ace might just finally land himself that Queen of Hearts after all, provided nobody could top that bid.

It was kind of funny, when it was Ace of all people who'd piped up with his little bit about how women come and go during the meeting. Ace, the man who swore he'd never be tied down to some 'ball n chain'. Shit, when Singer thought about it, maybe that was why he bid on her. Just to somehow prove some kind of point to Farley. He certainly didn't look enthusiastic about it, like any sane man would at the prospect of getting such a sweet, young and pretty little thing like her. He knew that Ace would never let anything happen to that girl, and was just trying to look out for her, but...well, shit, he didn't even look hopeful about being the lucky man.

Just had that frown on his face that seemed to be a constant nowadays, and continued flipping his cards.

But Ace had shown his hand, and Singer was quite anxious to see if he'd win.

"What was that?" Vanessa asked, just to be sure she'd heard correctly.

"Ten thousand," Ace repeated, louder this time.

"Goddamn," Slater chuckled nearby, shaking his head.

"Your ass ain't got that kinda money!" Farley swore, to which Ace just stamped out his cigarette and picked up his playing cards from the table. Then he stood up. He strode across the bar and toward the entrance as he tucked his playing cards inside their box, then slipped them in his pocket. He walked outside and Singer couldn't help but gravitate toward the door to peek through the glass, watching as Ace unlocked one of his saddle bags with a small key from his keyring. He reached into the luggage and fished around until he found a cream colored envelope, then closed and locked the bag. 

He walked back in and slapped the envelope on the table in front of Vanessa and Autumn.

"Ten thousand dollars," he said, and Autumn's eyes went wide in her head.

Singer lifted a brow at the envelope. His ass had ten thousand dollars in cash tucked in his saddlebag this entire fucking time?! "What the fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Singer could tell Vanessa was fighting a smile, as she said, "Alright, ten thousand going once...going twice..." She waited a moment for any others to bid higher, but the men all slumped disappointedly in their seats because not a single one had that much money on them, and a few eyed Ace like he was insane to put up that much money for a woman. "Sold," Vanessa announced and the Ladies cheered. Singer, the President, and the rest of the Cabinet also clapped, and even some of the men who'd made their bids gave Ace applause in good sport. 

Farley cursed and slid his chair back, scrambling to his feet. "You're a fuckin' asshole," he said to Ace as he marched over. "Your ass didn't even want no part of this."

"Shouldn't have pissed me off," Ace shrugged, pulling out yet another cigarette from the pack in his pocket as he spoke. He was going to put the club in debt with that habit of his. He lit it, flipped the lighter closed, then waited expectantly for Farley to comment, almost daring him to say one cross word as he spoke. "Ya got somethin' ta say? You go right ahead an' say it. I'm all ears."

Farley just scoffed. "Well you're just a hypocrite, aintchya? Talkin' about how women come and go, and they're a dime a dozen, and all that nonsense?"

"Yep," Ace slowly nodded. "And evidently they can be auctioned." Then he pointed to the envelope. "There's always more where that came from too. And it's a helluva lot easier to hold onto."

Farley shook his head at him, then marched to the exit.

"Well ainchya gonna stick around for the wedding?" Slater asked.

"Is it required?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Then I'll see everybody at the next meeting."

Farley left, and the others glanced around at one another before turning to the President. None of the rest looked quite as eager to leave, probably because they knew a wedding meant a reception afterwards, which meant beer and food. Live music too. Singer still had his equipment to set up, but he planned on playing a little music that night. Slater gestured to the envelope and told Ness, "You take that and divide it amongst the Ladies," to which she nodded, swiping the cash from the table. The Ladies cheered at that, and why wouldn't they, with ten thousand dollars cash money to split. 

"Alright, boys, look sharp," the VP smirked. "It appears we have ourselves a wedding to attend."

"Never thought I'd see the day your ass would finally get hitched," Singer told Ace, who just snorted at him.

Then he blinked several times in surprise at himself as he stared down at the table and puffed on his cigarette, as if he hardly believed he'd just done that to himself either.

Nearby his sister laughed at something Autumn mumured quietly in her ear. "Come on," she said to Autumn, squeezing her shoulder and smiling. "Let's go get ya ready."...

Pagan weddings were not your typical well-to-do white collar affairs where everybody got dressed up in tuxedos and bridesmaid dresses or anything, and they really only bothered to truss up the bride herself, which Vanessa and Autumn did upstairs while the rest of them set up, but it was still a party. A handful of Ladies headed back to the kitchen to start cooking up some food for everyone, two of them went behind the bar to start handing out drinks, and Singer left to pick up his equipment, parking his Harley and starting up the van, calling his bandmates to let them know the meeting was over and it was safe to come to the bar to set up.

They weren't Pagans, but they were all local boys, and they'd been playing gigs together for as long as Singer had been a Pagan. They called themselves the Black Powder Pistols when they were on the road, traveling around the state and playing for various bars, campgrounds or county fairs. They all arrived about the same time to start setting up, and Singer walked in with his six string in its cloth case slung over his shoulder to see that Slater and the VP had dragged Ace over to the bar.

They sat is ass down in a stool and made him drink with them, as well as suffer all their jokes and comments while members moved tables and chairs around to make room for the P.A. equipment.

Ace was turned around backwards in his stool and leaning back against the counter, with Slater's elbow perched on his shoulder, beers in hand, and Ace said, "Well shit. The band's playin' tonight? Almost makes the ten grand I spent kinda worth it then." Singer laughed at that, setting down his guitar while his friends walked past him with their instruments, to the empty corner of the room. Slater and Ruckus were just rolling their eyes at Ace. Singer propped the guitar on his foot and folded his arms over it, leaning on it like a cane.

"Don't even give me that bullshit," he drawled at Ace, smiling. "Your ass would've married her eventually anyway."

Ace didn't look inclined to agree or disagree with that, just shrugged and knocked back his Budweiser. Singer chuckled at him, then left their company to set his guitar aside and continue to help the others move the equipment in. The cake had been brought in and sat on one of the booths in the corner for after the ceremony, and a few of the women were setting little wedding themed items on each table, little white silk flowers with various bobbles attached and tied together with a white bow, which Singer had no doubt the members would be throwing across the room at each other later.

He sighed, thinking about his own wedding to Ace's sister, feeling like it was just yesterday still, even though it had been two years already. What he would've given to have Ace at his side as his best man, but Vanessa didn't want to wait. Didn't want to tell her brother about it either, at least not until after they got hitched and it was too late for Ace to stop them. Singer didn't like their little shot gun wedding behind Ace's back, but he loved Vanessa, and wanted to make her happy, so if that's what she wanted, that's what she got.

But Ace would've liked it. Well, once he got over the two of them being together. It was one hell of a party, and it would've meant the world to Singer if he'd been there.

Partway through setting up, Monica finally arrived, holding a box with a little red bow, smiling at everyone.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be here earlier," she said. "Had to take the boys to soccer practice, and Adam fell during scrimmage and busted his knee, so we had to go to the walk-in clinic." She walked over and pecked Slater on the cheek as she spoke. "So who's the lucky man?" She asked, and Slater nudged Ace beside him, who appeared to be grumbling under his breath from where Singer was standing. "Congratulations honey," she smiled at him and leaned in for a half hug, which Ace reluctantly gave, allowing her to peck him on the cheek next.

"Vanessa's upstairs with the lucky Lady to be," Slater told her, to which she nodded, adjusted her purse on her shoulder, then headed upstairs, carting that little gift box with her.

Conversation all around continued and the members kicked back with their drinks while the women decorated and set out the food and the band continued to set up equipment in the corner. The whole while Singer watched Ace on occasion, who sported this solemn look like he was being marched to his doom, and the party taking place that evening would be the wake for his funeral, which made Singer chuckle to himself. Ace had always been calloused when it came to women and weddings.

Yet, for some reason, he wanted to marry Autumn, and Singer wagered it was just to keep the other members' hands off the pretty little girl, and keep her under his roof where he could keep a close eye on her, in case her husband ever came back. Ace had no care for men like Mr. Florence, so it should come to no surprise to Singer, should Ace be making some kind of "noble sacrifice" on his part just to keep her safe. His ass was a Pagan, so while he might not give a shit about much when it came to the fairer sex, except how hard they worked and how often they put out, he'd still protect them just the same when they need it.

If there was one thing Ace couldn't stand, it was a woman being robbed of her dignity, just like what happened to their mother. Singer had heard the stories. Wasn't like Ace had anything better to do with his time anyway, except run the bar, and maybe since he retired his gun, he figured settling down with a woman was what he ought to do now. He was finally ready for that shit. Took his ass long enough, in Singer's opinion. About the time the Pistols finished hooking up the sound system, Vanessa came down and announced the bride was ready, so Singer, Slater and Ruckus dragged Ace off his stool.

The serious expression he wore fit perfectly as all the men and women gathered, then started humming the Death March and drumming their hands or tapping their glasses along with the hymn as Autumn walked in, who snorted at the somber tune in place of the Wedding March. Ace grumbled something inaudible next to Singer, who kept his arm about the man's shoulder in case he got cold feet at the last second and tried to make a break for it.

He didn't, though that sort of thing happened on occasion, especially if the man had been drunk when he proposed and saw how ugly the bride was the next day when they were both sober. He elbowed Singer in the side when he made a choking sound and sliced his finger across his own throat.

But Autumn sure did look pretty though. That's why they took so fucking long getting her ready. The girls put in the extra effort, had curled her hair and slapped some make-up on her face, then dressed her up in a little white dress and heels, even stuck a veil on her head and a bouquet of flowers in her hands. But she wore her vest over the wedding dress. Which actually might have been Vanessa's, but Singer couldn't rightly be sure, and he was high as a kite anyway.

Slater, who would officiate since he was President now, said, "Wontchya give us a little twirl, darlin'," to Autumn who sighed and twirled once, slowly, in her spot so everybody could get a look at her. 

Despite his wife standing five feet away, Singer couldn't help but let his eyes fall to that ass of hers as she twirled, because what man wouldn't when it was fine as hell, and out of the corner of his eye he caught Ace quirking his brow at the name on her vest. Then he snorted in disbelief. She finished her little fashion show, and Slater cleared his throat. "Alright," he quipped. "Now we can get started." He turned to Autumn first, looping his arm around her shoulder like a father or an old family friend. 

"You wanna marry this man?" he asked her, pointing at Ace.

She chewed her lip, but then nodded. "Yeah."

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah."

"Ya really _really_ sure? Cause ya better be damned sure. We don't do that divorce shit. Your ass is gonna have to shoot him an' hide the body if ya ever get tired of his bullshit."

She snorted. "Yeah I'm sure. I wanna marry him."

"You poor _poor_ woman," he sighed and everybody laughed. Ace rolled his eyes. "Alright well what about you?" Slater asked Ace. "Ya wanna marry this woman?" Ace nodded once. "I didn't quite catch that." He leaned in to listen like Ace had mumbled, though he hadn't said anything. "Did ya say ya wanna marry her?" 

"Yes I wanna marry her, ya jackass," Ace grumbled. 

Slater grinned. "Oh ya do? Well then why dontchya kiss the goddamned bride!" he laughed, then nudged Autumn toward Ace. 

Now this part of the deal Ace didn't mind so much, so he shoved Singer off of him and stepped forward to loop his arms around Autumn and plant a kiss on her. The women cheered and the men whistled as the former Enforcer took advantage of his current situation and wrapped his arms tightly around Autumn to give her a good long kiss, and judging by the squeak she made, he'd even shoved his tongue down her throat just then, and she didn't seem to mind at all as she slid her arms about his neck.

By the time he let her go, Autumn was a hot mess of bright pink and breathing a little raggedly too.

"I now pronounce you both royally fucked," said the Prez, and everyone laughed, then gave some applause, and that was it. They were married now. Even Ace finally popped out of his doom and gloom for a second to let out a chuckle, cracking his first smile and mumbling, "Yeah that sounds about right." Vanessa came over and glued the patches on Autumn's vest that said Property Of Ace, to make it official, which earned another round of applause when she was finished.

But Ace kept his arms around Autumn the entire time, not looking too bent on letting her go anytime soon.

Seemed his hands knew him better than he even knew himself.

Singer whistled.

"Alright, let's get fuckin' hammered!" he shouted and everybody roared in the most enthusiastic agreement they could possibly manage, raising their drinks, and Singer clapped Ace once on the back, saying, "Good luck," before waving Vanessa over to bring him a beer. He tipped it to Ace in salute, then grabbed his guitar. "Let's get this place rockin'," he said over the mic to the band and they nodded, kicking off the music while Ladies passed out cake or plates of food and more beer.

He'd play a mix of older songs and newer, that every member could appreciate, but to start the party, he kicked off the set with something for Ace and the Pistols played a cover of Rock Steady by Bad Company. Then, and only then, did Ace crack a genuine smile as he found a chair and set Autumn in his lap, then lit up a cigarette to split with his new wife as they lounged, and Autumn didn't look like she was complaining. She wasn't smiling either, but she certainly earned the moniker of "blushing bride".

Ace was sure to have his hands full later, busy consummating that union, because she sure looked like she wanted to fuck him for a split second, and the more she drank, the friskier she'd get with her hands.

Yep, Eddie "Ace" Buchannon was a doomed fucking man, and it would all be down hill from there, Singer imagined, with a big smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they hum the notes to in place of the classic wedding hymn is [Funeral March by Chopin](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xXb6dP2_Zhk&feature=share)


	19. Chapter 19

Autumn's heart was still racing long after the passionate kiss she shared with Ace that stole her breath away. She hadn't expected it, certainly not from Ace of all people, but it had filled her with a rush of excitement, adrenaline, and heat that she hadn't felt in God only knew how long. She was still trying to wrap her head around it - and around the fact that she was now married to Ace - as she sat perched on his lap at one of the tables while across the room Singer and his band played some rock n roll. He sounded pretty great, had a terrific singing voice, and now Autumn knew how he earned his name.

While the actual ceremony wasn't much, and was more comic relief than actual affirmation of marriage, the reception held was actually pretty nice, and the cake looked delicious too. The Ladies really went the extra mile to make it a nice occasion for Autumn, as well as everyone else. They actually behaved as if they were genuinely happy to have her as part of their family, though maybe some of the men were jealous still, that it wasn't their lap she was sitting on. But every one of the Cabinet walked over to their table, shook Ace's hand, and gave them both their sincere congratulations.

She'd been nervous all morning about the auction, from the moment she woke up, and it took Vanessa's reassurances to help her get over her little bout of "cold feet". She'd just been apprehensive about who she might end up with. She'd chain smoked one cigarette after another during the meeting, listening to the other Ladies give her all this different advice on how to take care of her man, how to be a proper Lady, how to behave toward the other members, what to do and not do. What to say, how to address each member based on rank, and all kinds of other shit.

One of the Ladies even had advice on how to keep her old man happy in the sex department. Though all she'd said was, "Blow jobs, honey. Lots and lots of blow jobs. And not just when they ask for em. Just offer to give em one on occasion."

"So that's it?" Autumn chuckled. "The key to a Pagan's happiness is oral sex?"

"Hell fuckin' yeah," Vanessa piped up, grinning. "They're men, honey. Men are pretty damn simple, and they all want the same things. Beer, food, and sex. Don't matter if the house is on fire. You're suckin' that man's dick and all is right in his world."

Autumn laughed. "So that's why Singer's always smiling."

"You're damn right," she said proudly.

Joking with the women about how all men were about as complicated as field mice and how all they really cared about was sex helped to keep her in good spirits, and combat her anxiety for the most part. But when she stepped inside and Vanessa put her on display for all the men, she'd almost lost her nerve then, and came close to turning and fleeing. All the unmarried members eyeing her hungrily like dogs with a fresh bone made her regret her decision. They all just wanted a piece of her, and maybe some of them weren't so bad, some of them had been quite nice to her over the week, but they all just wanted to get lucky with her now.

When it looked like Farley might be the lucky winner, with a measely five hundred dollars, which was kind of insulting really, she was tempted to walk away, but she needed the club's protection, and she'd sooner let Farley get his slimy hands on her than be kicked to the curb. But she felt like she'd been thrown to the wolves, and when Ace piped up from the back with a ten thousand dollar bid for her, she thought her heart might explode right then and there. Had this murderous look on his face too, like he'd kill any man in there if they so much as touched her.

She didn't even consider that Ace might get jealous like that. Didn't think he even cared, much less wanted to get involved. But the girls fitting her into a wedding dress and doing up her hair was the most nerve wracking part of the experience, because then, and only then, did it start to hit home that she would be metaphorically chained to Ace's hip for the rest of her life. He would gladly commit murder if her husband ever returned, but he was also possessive, domineering and controlling on occasion. Reminded her a bit too much of her husband, and was too old fashioned when it came to women.

The younger members might not give a flying fuck what their women did, as long as they kept the drinks flowing and kept putting out for them whenever asked, but Ace was different. He had different expectations of women too. Autumn didn't mind that she would have to keep her mouth shut and look the other way when it came to some aspects of the club, and would happily lie with a straight face to keep Ace out of prison, but she would also have to continue to put up with the rest of Ace's hedonistic behavior too. Though she'd have a roof over her head. She wouldn't have to leave the bar.

She could stay there as long as she wanted, and as she sat on Ace's lap she could see the pistol tucked in its holster beneath his vest. Right there, ready to be drawn. She was safe there, on Ace's lap. She still felt it, just like she did the last time around when she sat with him, even with Casey three feet away from her. As his arms curled around her frame and his fingers softly stroked her side, she felt that sense of security wash over her, like she could finally relax and let down her guard. Like there was not a soul on this earth that could touch her without facing Ace's murderous wrath.

All the other men in the bar could look on with resentment and jealous hatred of Ace all they wanted, but not one of them could have her. Because she now belonged to him, and only him. As long as she kept him content, he wouldn't let anything happen to her, so maybe it was worth the price. She hoped he felt the same, that she was worth the hefty sum of ten grand that he forked over for her, and didn't just offer up money so he'd finally get his chance to sleep with her. She had no idea he even had that kind of money, and was curious to know where it came from.

So for the first time since sitting down with her new husband, she opened her mouth to speak and blurted out, "Where did you get that ten grand?"

Ace puffed on his cigarette one last time, then held it out to her. "Word of advice, darlin'," he said as she accepted it. "Never ask me questions you don't want the answers to." Her heart skipped when she heard that, and it caused her to take a nervous drag off the cigarette, as seconds later she heard another song start playing. Singer plucked the opening of a Lynard Skynard song at the President's request, called Gimme Back My Bullets. Autumn contemplated Ace's enigmatic words as his best man started to sing again on their little makeshift stage area.

_Life is so strange when its changin', yes indeed,_   
_Well I've seen the hard times and the pressure's been on me,_   
_But I keep on workin' like the workin' man do,_   
_And I've got my act together, gonna walk all over you._

_Gimme back my bullets,_   
_Put 'em back where they belong._   
_Ain't foolin' around 'cause I done had my fun._   
_Ain't gonna see no more damage done._   
_Gimme back my bullets..._

Autumn sighed, then flicked the ashes from her cigarette. "Yeah, suppose you're right, and what I don't know won't kill me," she said dryly.

Ace snorted at that, and continued absently tracing her thigh with his fingers as he listened to the song, brushing against bare skin as her skirt had ridden up just a little. Felt pretty good. Ace was a good kisser too. He may be a lot of other things Autumn would rather not have mentioned, but she could tell he knew what he was doing when it came to women. Didn't feel anything like it felt with her soon-to-be ex husband. Casey was complete and total shit in comparison to what Ace could do with that devil tongue of his. Made her hot all over just to think about it.

_Sweet talkin' people done ran me out of town,_   
_And I drank enough whiskey to float a battleship around,_   
_But I'm leavin' this game one step ahead of you,_   
_And you will not hear me cry 'cause I do not sing the blues._

_Gimme back my bullets,_   
_Put 'em back where they belong._   
_Ain't foolin' around 'cause I done had my fun._   
_Ain't gonna see no more damage done,_   
_Gimme back, gimme back my bullets,_   
_Oh, put 'em back...where they belong..._

Autumn needed a drink, badly, so she started to get up from Ace's lap, but he held her down and asked, "Where ya goin', baby?"

"I was gonna get us somethin' to drink," she said, but he shook his head at her.

"You just stay right there," he told her. "Let someone else do it." All around them people were standing and talking, drinks in hand, or eating a slice of wedding cake, but Crystal was going around the tables and refilling everyone's drink if needed, so Ace called out, "Chrissie!" She came over, smiling, not even bothered that Ace didn't get her name right. "Whiskey please," Ace requested and she nodded. "And what do you want?" He asked Autumn, and she thought about it for a second. Bourbon really was an acquired taste, but she had a feeling she'd need it, being married to this man, so she shrugged.

"Whiskey," she affirmed with a nod, so Crystal went to fetch them some.

"And bring the bottle!" Ace called as she headed behind the counter. "Got a feeling we're gonna need it," he mumbled, as if reading her thoughts and it made her snort. But nearby Singer was still cranking out sound from where he sat on his stool behind the mic.

_Been up and down since I turned seventeen,_   
_Well I've been on top, and then it seems I lost my dream,_   
_But I got it back, I'm feelin' better everyday,_   
_Tell all those pencil pushers, better get out of my way,_

_Gimme back my bullets,_   
_Put 'em back where they belong._   
_Ain't foolin' around, 'cause I done had my fun._   
_Ain't gonna see no more damage done,_   
_Gimme back, gimme back my bullets,_   
_Oh put 'em back where they belong,_   
_Gimme back my bullets..._

Singer played a pretty slick guitar riff before wrapping up the song as Crystal came back with their order, bringing them a bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky bourbon and two scotch glasses. Clearly she wasn't as familiar with Ace's preference for Jack Daniels, but it only took him five seconds to make his decision to crack open the bottle and pour them each a glass, waving Autumn off when she tried to do it for him, as if for that moment, sitting on Ace's lap, she was banned from doing anything but sit there and look pretty, like a trophy wife.

So she kept her arm around him, while the other held a scotch glass full of bourbon that she casually sipped on, not realizing at first that she'd been habitually brushing his shoulder with her fingers in much the same manner as him. As the afternoon turned to evening, and it started to get dark outside, more and more people filled the bar. The neon sign still blinked the word 'open', but Andrea had put one on the door that read 'Reception In Progress' in bold black letters written with a sharpie marker, so regular paying customers would be mindful of the celebration taking place.

All around them people flocked, some erupting in laughter at some joke shared, or stuffed their faces full of food, and in the corner Singer paused between songs to take a drink from his bottle, holding it up when it was empty, signalling Vanessa to come take it from him and replace the bottle with a full one. Behind him, the drummer said something to Singer, and he laughed over the mic. People closest to the band stopped talking, asking what the drummer said, curious as to what made him laugh, so he waved the drummer up to the mic.

He got out from behind his drums and walked over, accepting the microphone when Singer pulled it off the stand and handed to him. "Hey everybody," he greeted, and they greeted him, or simply clapped. He chuckled again and said, "I just - uh - just got done tellin' Singer here that I think I figured out how these two ended up together." He pointed at Ace and Autumn where they sat. "I have been watchin' these two for the last two hours now and ya know ain't neither one of em have said hardly two goddamned words to each other, or anybody else?"

Several people laughed and Autumn fidgeted in embarrassment as all eyes in the room were on them again, the center of attention as they listened to the drummer talk about them.

"And look at em both," he chuckled. "Boy they're just two peas in goddamned pod, ain't they? Both sittin' over there, sippin' on their drinks with them frowns on their faces, lookin' like they're bein' tortured." Okay now that one actually made Autumn snort a little, covering her mouth with her glass, and beside her Ace rolled his eyes. "Either these two are just really _really_ bored, or they're already plottin' to kill each other," the drummer said. "Now ya know you're supposed to wait until _after_ you've been married a while ta start thinkin' bout where you're gonna hide the body."

More and more people were laughing, and finally Autumn couldn't take it anymore. She didn't like being under a microscope, and Ace didn't appear to either, so she perked up a little and said, "Oh we ain't plottin' to kill either one of _us_."

"Ya ain't?" the drummer asked, and she shook her head.

"Nah," Ace concurred, then knocked back the glass in his hand. "Just the drummer if he don't quit runnin' his mouth and get back to playin' some fuckin' music."

"Alright, alright," he laughed. "Fair enough."

He handed the microphone back to Singer who popped it back in the stand, then said, "Alright we'll get back to the music, and Ima play somethin' y'all can dance with your old ladies to." He sat down and noodled with his guitar for a second until he decided on the chords to play. "Alright boys, grab your women." Some of the members actually got up, but Ace stayed right where he was and didn't look inclined to dance. Neither was Autumn really. "Oh will you just get off your ass and dance with your new wife?"

Singer laughed when he saw how reluctant Ace was, who mumbled, "Fuckin' asshole. He knows I don't dance."

Ace couldn't dance?

Autumn filed that bit of information away as Ace begrudgingly released her from captivity, nudging her off his lap so they could dance, as Singer started playing the intro to a slow song on his Gibson. "Oh hell this is gonna be perfect for these two," Singer said over the mic. Ace led Autumn over to an empty spot next where the band played, then erupted in a chuckle, shaking his head as Singer started belting out Love Hurts by Nazareth. Several other members and their women laughed, some sighing and cursing at Singer's ridiculous choice in music for a wedding reception.

It wasn't even a love song. It was a _break-up_ song. But he sang it, his voice stuttering as he tried and failed not to laugh. Ace flipped off his friend, jutting his middle finger high in the air before pulling Autumn into his arms and rocking her back and forth in that spot in a slow dance. It was just a tad awkward for the first couple steps until they both found a suitable rhythm as they swayed, Ace's arms about her waist, and hers looped around his neck. "So are ya regrettin' it yet?" he asked after a time, still with that pensive look on his face, and Autumn shrugged.

"Not yet," she said. Then she glanced around. "This is a lot better than my last weddin'," she commented. "We didn't have a live band."

Didn't even have a reception actually. The wedding itself was pretty short too. Wasn't like this one, and the ceremony did have all the typical dialogue of your standard non-denominational wedding vows, they both said, "I do," Slipped rings on one another, then kissed. But they were at a courthouse, not even a chapel, and Autumn's parents weren't even in attendance. They signed the papers, but they refused to show up to their civil union before a Justice of the Peace. So it was just Casey, his parents and Autumn standing before the officiant, and Autumn wasn't even wearing a wedding dress when they eloped.

She was four months pregnant and starting to show, so nothing would fit, and Casey's mother insisted only virgins wore white anyway. Clearly Autumn wasn't a virgin. But they had their little ceremony, signed their marrage certificate, and that was it. There was no reception or even a honeymoon after, because Casey's parents were packing up to move back east, and now that they were married, Casey proposed the idea of moving with them. Then Autumn was uprooted entirely from Nevada in the blink of an eye. There were no wedding bells, no friends and relatives toasting to their happy union, no love songs...

Thinking about all that, and listening to the lyrics of the song the band played, started to make her feel like Love Hurts really was a fitting song after all.

She glanced up at Ace and asked, "What about you? Ya regrettin' shellin' out that much money ta get hitched?"

"Not yet," he said, with much of the same flat tone she'd used with him.

She nodded a little at his words, then lay her head against his chest, closing her eyes. If she didn't know anything else, she at least knew that it felt pretty damn good to have Ace holding her like this. He didn't make her feel like he would strangle her if she so much as breathed wrong. Matter of fact, being around Ace made her feel like she could finally breathe again. She couldn't understand why, when there were so many reasons to keep her distance from someone like him, yet still, something about the taciturn Pagan made her feel reassured, that everything would be okay.

"Why'd ya do it?" she finally worked up the nerve to ask, and felt his heart drum faster for a second.

He took a moment to come up with an answer, but eventually said, "Reckon it's probably along the same lines of the only reason you'd ever agree to marryin' my ugly ass in the first place." As he spoke, and they swayed along with the music, he rubbed her back affectionately. "So I can protect ya, on the off chance that ex husband of yours ever shows his face again." Autumn pulled away and stared up at him. It appeared that Ace held no delusions whatsoever about why Autumn wanted to stick around, perminantly. "Plus I figured that apartment upstairs could use a woman's touch...and maybe so could I," he added, with a barest hint of a smile.

She couldn't help but chuckle at that, and maybe it was just the drink talking, but she said, "Well how do you know that wasn't my plan all along, to get stuck bein' married to you? I mean, 'cause you really ain't all that bad lookin', Ace." Her eyes passed over his face. "Helluva lot better lookin' than the rest of em."

He furrowed his brow at her. "How much of that whiskey did ya sneak when I wasn't lookin'?" he asked. She snickered at him. Granted it was some strong liquor, but she wasn't that drunk. Yet, anyway. "So you expect me ta believe that was your plan the entire time."

She snorted. "Maybe."

"And I suppose ya just wanted ta auction yourself off to the highest bidder just to make my ass jealous or somethin'."

"Well, did it work?"

Ace sighed at her, like she was ridiculous. "I am far too old for you," he declared, and she reared her head at that.

"Well how old are ya?"

"Too old."

"How old, Ace?"

He bit the corner of his lip as he glanced around the room, like people were watching them still, though most couldn't hardly care what they were doing. "Forty-five," he finally mumbled in answer, and her eyes popped for a second.

She thought he was only maybe thirty to thirty-five still. He was no model or anything, and so maybe he didn't look like the cover of some men's health magazine, but he still had a full head of hair, with not so much as a stitch of gray, still had all his teeth, and ten years behind bars, clean and sober with access to weight lifting equipment had done the man a world of good, looks wise. Forty-five wasnt that old, but there was more significant of an age gap between them than she initially thought.

She burst with a disbelieving chuckle. "You look pretty damn good for forty-five," she complemented.

He still eyed her skeptically and said, "I think that girl might've slipped somethin' in your whiskey glass."

All she could do was laugh at that, then shake her head before laying it back down on his chest as they finished their dance.

She felt him chuckling too. Then he kissed the side of her head, while nearby Singer ran his hands up and down the frets of his electric guitar. Neither one of them noticed Otto sneaking up on them with a full bag of uncooked rice to dump on their heads until it was too late. They both sputtered in surprise, then Autumn spent the next twenty minutes picking rice out of her cleavage while Ace chased a laughing Otto around the bar, threatening to kick his ass.

Luckily he was only half serious, and just ended up getting in a rice fight with him instead, pissing people off when it landed in their food and drinks.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter everyone signed up for.

Ace stared down at two shot glasses filled with Fireball whiskey that Singer set before him and wrinkled his brow in disgust. 

"Come on now, you promised," Singer reminded, and with a dejected groan, Ace picked up one of the shot glasses.

Years ago, Singer and Ace decided that if either one of them ever got married, they'd each do a shot of the most disgusting drink they could think of together because Ace swore that was what marriage was going to feel like going down and coming back up too. Like something that crawled out of the ass end of a dog, for the rest of their days. Ace had missed Singer's wedding, but the younger brother took a break between sets to come drag Ace away from Autumn and shoved a bottle of Fireball across the counter. 

Singer could not have picked a worse drink in Ace's eyes, which made the ridiculous pact they made in the first place all that much more regrettable now. But it was either that, or Jägermeister, and Ace just wanted to get it over with, so he let Singer have his pick. He picked up his glass, as did Singer beside him, then as if they prepared to go to war, each man took a deep breath before clinking their glasses together and quickly downing the shot. 

Ace's mouth was flooded with the sickeningly warm zing of cinnamon before he swallowed, and he damned near threw up right then and there as he slammed the empty shot glass on the table and cursed. 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ Almighty!" Singer barked beside him, coughing, face turning red and looking like he was seconds from upchucking as well. 

"Goddamn that's fuckin' disgusting!" Ace cursed, fighting his own battle with the taste in his mouth.

"Yeah I know."

"Why'd I ever suggest this?"

"I dunno, why'd ya ever decide to finally get married?"

Ace's eyes widened, and he jerked a thumb behind him, in Autumn's general direction.

"Have you seen my wife?!" he exclaimed. "My ass might be gettin' old, but it ain't dead, and I sure as hell ain't blind!"

Singer laughed, but took rapid breaths to keep from being nauseous. 

"Singer. Singer, this tastes like cinnamon flavored dog shit. If I throw up, I'm doin' it on you, 'cause this is your fault."

"Shoulda went with Jäger bombs, I guess."

"Too late now."

"Alright, we just - just gotta let it breathe for a second," Singer told him, catching his breath, as did Ace. "Just let it breathe, man."

He tasted acid in his throat. "Nah I can't do it," Ace declared, shaking his head and reaching for his glass of bourbon to wash down the taste.

"Wait, wait, hold up!" Singer rushed to stop him, holding up a hand. "Don't drink whiskey. It'll just make it worse!"

"How could it possibly get any worse?!"

"Cuse it's gonna hurt like hell. Just drink a beer, it'll go down easier."

"Fuck," Ace cursed again, then flagged down the chick behind the counter. "A beer please," he requested.

"Yeah I'll take one too," Singer added.

The girl, Sadie, darted over to the cooler to fetch them both a bottle of Budweiser, popping the caps off with a bottle opener. They greedily accepted the bottles and rushed to guzzle them down, which worked to rid Ace's mouth of the taste of Fireball for the most part, though there was still a fiery heat on his tongue from the cinnamon. "I hate you," he told Singer, who chuckled, and so did he seconds later, unable to stay mad at Singer for very long about something. Even marriage to his sister, which he hated that he missed out on. 

He clapped Singer's shoulder once, then the two turned in their barstools to watch the party taking place around them.

Some of the members left much earlier in the day, only sticking around to have a few beers, a slice of the wedding cake, and pay their respects to the bride and groom before ducking out, but the bar was still pretty packed that night, the women laughing and dancing to the song on the stereo as the band was taking a break. Across the room Autumn was standing near the jukebox, talking to Vanessa and Otto's old lady. She'd kicked her heels off, set her veil on one of the tables, and now stood barefoot with her drink in hand, laughing about something. 

Goddamn she was a beautiful girl, and the drunker he got, the less Ace was able to keep his eyes off her. Midnight Rider by the Allman Brothers currently blasted over the stereo speakers, and Autumn was swaying a little in her spot to the beat of the music. She might be young, but she had an old soul just like him, and it seemed her body just couldn't help but move as the alcohol stripped her of all inhibitions. She snapped her fingers, twisting in her spot as she danced, mouthing some of the lyrics of the song. Or she might've been singing. But Ace couldn't hear at this distance.

She swayed those hips of hers, then grinned from ear to ear again at something, and this time around, when her eyes followed Vanessa's pointing finger to Ace across the room as he stared, her smile didn't falter. It widened, and she even winked. Oh she was definitely drunk, much as she tried to deny just how much that Wild Turkey had knocked her for a loop. Ace surmised as he sipped on the remainder of his beer that if he played his cards right, he might get lucky, and have himself a proper wedding night with Autumn. 

Things certainly looked to be heading that direction as the night progressed. Because she sure didn't look like she'd object. Not with all the looks she kept giving him every once in a while throught their reception. Smiling at him like that. He didn't realize that he was smiling too until Singer nudged Ace's arm with his elbow, grinning. "Yep, there he is," Singer jabbed. "There's the old Ace. I was wonderin' when his ass was finally gonna show up. Welcome back, brother." Ace just took the comment in stride, shaking his head at Singer and sipping his beer. 

Across the room, Vanessa caught sight of the two men, leering at their wives, and laughed, blowing Singer a kiss, and Ace was just drunk enough to not be pissed off anymore about those two.

"You know," he started, "I really am grateful it was you of all people my sister ended up with."

Singer chuckled, saying, "Oh hell, Ace. It was never gonna be anybody else. You know I've loved that girl since I first laid eyes on her."

"Yeah I know," Ace grunted, as he could remember all the times he had to threaten Singer to keep his grimy hands off his baby sister, and quit staring at her like she was cake on a platter. "Just do us both a favor, and don't ever break that woman's heart. She'll strangle you with her bare hands, then she'll chew my ass for ever introducin' ya."

Singer laughed. 

"Trust me, ya ain't ever gotta worry. I've seen that woman fight. Hell, she could probably take on the whole club." Ace chuckled at that. He was the one that taught her most of what she knew, so he didn't doubt she could knock Singer flat on his back. "I'm more worried about you. You gave your wife a loaded gun, and if you'd have let her, she woulda shot that boy. Ain't no doubt about that shit. Whatchya think she'll do to you if ya ever piss her off?" Ace snorted at that, but he made no comment, just kept his eyes on Autumn across the room. 

Then Singer added, "Hell, I say you two are just about perfect each other, 'cause she might be just as crazy as you are."

Maybe. But Ace really had no idea if she would've killed that husband of hers. Couldn't care either way. Ace just put that gun in her hand so she'd have that power over him, and maybe realize that she didn't have to be so scared of him like she'd been. Maybe teach that boy a very valuable life lesson too. Now granted, there were times when what a woman really needed was a good slap across the face to set her straight, and maybe Ace had done that very thing a time or too, but not without a damned good reason to, and certainly not to a good woman like Autumn. 

But her ex husband on the other hand just didn't seem to understand that. Didn't have an ounce of respect in him. Ace could only hope he learned his lesson, but as he stared at Autumn while she talked with the other women, slowly sipping on the glass in her hand - something red in color that Sadie gave her earlier, begging her to try it - he quickly put thoughts of Casey Florance far from his mind. All the headache that came with it too. Even by some miracle managed to put that pistol beneath his vest out of his head, for once. 

He didn't think about it before, when he slapped that cash on the table, didn't think about what he'd gained, only what he could keep the other members from getting their hands on, but now he had the time to fully process what had fallen in his lap that afternoon.

He had something to live for now.

Just as he suspected she might, Autumn had become his reason to roll out of bed every morning. 

Just the week before, when he'd woke up in his prison cell, he'd only had one thing on his mind: freedom. From the life he'd chosen to lead, and from the burden he'd carried that came with it, which came in the form of a gun to back of his head. But now, staring at that pretty little girl in a white dress that hugged all her curves, who covered her mouth when she laughed at something, who's eyes lit up and shined like the chrome of the exhaust pipes on his Vegas when she smiled, Ace put two and two together in his mind as to why he really slapped that money on the table.

Keeping her around was worth any price he had to pay, be it ten grand, or a hundred.

Because he _needed_ a reason to roll out of bed every morning.

He needed something to live for, some reason to wake up every day still breathing, something to keep him sane. Some new reason to exist on this earth if he couldn't do what he did for the club anymore, because that had been his only means of living. Maybe even some way to make up for every wrong he'd committed over the years. Some way to redeem himself. Something to hold at night, to care about and provide for, instead of only himself. Hell, maybe even make him happy. But a damn good reason not to pull that trigger and blow his own brains out when he got tired of living.

He didn't really give a rat's ass if Autumn could ever love him, didn't particularly care why she agreed to marry him either, and only cared about one thing right that second. That Autumn, instead of a bullet, had become his ticket to getting out. He'd always be a Pagan, the hounds of hell could not pry that vest from his rotting corpse, and he would sooner die than abandon the life, but he'd finally found his way out of this miserable hole he'd dug himself into mentally. Found a way to cope. Autumn was his chance at living. Of feeling like he had a purpose again.

The type of high to finally replace the kind he used to feel when he could pull that trigger at will.

Maybe looking after Autumn, and giving her the life her husband never could, might ease some of that burden he carried. And right now, all fired up on Wild Turkey, and finishing a beer to get the taste of Fireball out of his mouth, he wanted to reap the benefit of what he'd just signed up for. So Ace set aside his empty beer bottle and stamped out his cigarette as he thought about it, then before he got too drunk to be a wasted effort on the woman, slid out if his stool, reaching to knock back the last of his whiskey before he tarried off. "Where ya goin'?" Singer asked, and Ace snorted.

"To do the only kinda dance my ass is any good at," he answered, making his friend laugh. He patted his shoulder and said, "I'll catch ya later, brother," Because he highly doubted he'd be coming back downstairs anytime soon, much less to say his farewells for the time being. Singer tipped his bottle to him with a nod.

Abandoning Singer at the counter, he finally wandered over to where the Ladies stood, chatting amongst themselves, and watched keenly for a second as Autumn habitually pulled her hair over one shoulder as she talked, revealing that patch on the back of her vest, black with white letters that boldly read, "Property Of Ace", and he lost his damn mind again at the sight of it. He would never have cared to see it years ago, on any woman, but seeing it on Autumn now just made him go nuts. Made him unable to keep his damn hands to himself.

Got his blood pumping, his heart pounding in his years, and all the blood rushing to his dick just at the sight of those words and their meaning.

That she was his now. All his, and no other man's. That pretty little girl belonged to him now, and the only thing he cared to do right that second was stake his claim on her. He'd rock her fucking world too, and make her worship the ground he walked on. He'd be good to her, and it had been too damn long since he'd had himself a pretty young thing like her, so in his half drunken state, Ace lost all regard for personal boundaries, walked up to Autumn, spun her around and planted a heated kiss on that soft, sweet mouth of hers, slipping his arms around her waist. 

She squeaked in surprise, then let out a soft moan, handing her drink off to Vanessa so she could wrap both arms around his neck and press even tighter against him. There was no tearing Ace away from her now, not with how fervently she kissed him back. She tasted like cigarettes and some kind of fruit, and Ace quite liked it on her tongue. A few people whistled at them, then some even cheered when he then proceeded to scoop her up into his arms and Autumn laughed. "Whaddya say we have our own little party upstairs?" he asked her, and she nodded at him. 

He started to carry her across the bar, but Vanessa stopped him with, "Wait, she didn't toss the bouquet yet!" She swiped it from the table where it rested, and Ace paused just long enough for Autumn to take the flowers and throw them across the room at the bartender, Sadie, who shook her head and sighed when she caught the flowers before even fully realizing what Autumn had thrown. Members, their women, and even the paying customers cheered, egging them on as Ace adjusted his hold on her, then carted her to the door to the VIP lounge, and through to the stairwell.

They passed by a handful of people lounging on the velvet couches and talking, and one member making out with his old lady, who were too wrapped up in their own business to stop to wave them off, but not that Ace really cared. He juggled Autumn in his arms, who chuckled at his brief struggle to get the door open with dropping her, then happily kicked the door shut behind him with his boot. But it stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stare up at them, judging his ability to climb them while holding Autumn, as the alcohol creeped up on his senses.

"Fuck that's a lotta stairs," he cursed.

"Yeah ya might have to put me down," she said.

"Uh-uh, ain't happenin'," he drawled slowly. "I ain't lettin' a go."

"Well then how ya gonna get us up the stairs?"

"I ain't rightly sure just yet."

She snorted at that. "You act like I'll float away or somethin', like I'm gonna disappear if ya put me down."

"Ya might."

"I aint gonna," she swore, shaking her head. "You can put me down."

With a sigh he finally set her down, but didn't let her get away from him, snatching her around the waist to kiss her again. He stumbled back against the door, pulling her with him, and reached down to grab a handful of that perfect ass of hers and squeeze, making her moan in his mouth. Every inch of her was just as soft as could be, and he groaned when she snaked her hands up under his shirt, feeling those hands skim across bare skin. He needed to get her up those stairs before he ended up fucking her brains out right there in the hallway. He was very tempted to.

But finally, after a minute of working her magic on him and making him painfully hard, she pulled away and said, "Come on," then she grabbed him by the hand and tugged him up the stairs with her. Ace needed no convincing, and happily followed her up, then fished for his apartment key as they crossed the second floor. He'd have to remember to have a copy made for Autumn, as she'd now be living with him, and just that thought alone, of having Autumn in his bed every night, sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

He unlocked the door, and got them both inside, but after locking up behind them he didn't make it to the bedroom just yet, as Autumn pushed him down on the couch and straddled him, kissing him hard and running her fingers through his hair. He needed to let the girl get all lit up on Wild Turkey more often, because it made her an animal, and he kind of liked that. She ground against the erection straining in his faded blue jeans, driving him fucking wild too, and he couldn't take it anymore. They weren't going to make it to the bedroom.

He unzipped the back of her dress and got it down around her waist so he could get his first glimpse of that perfect pair of tits nestled in a white bra underneath, or at least what he could see of them in the darkness of the apartment. There was a street lamp streaming a bit of light through the window, but most of her was cast in shadow, too much for his liking. But she was so soft, her skin just as smooth as velvet, everywhere he touched.

Impatiently, he yanked at the fastening in the back to get her bra off, then closed his mouth around a hard nipple, sucking while a hand fondled the other breast, making her moan again. He kissed and touched her everywhere he was able, running his hands over her breasts, her hips, ass and thighs, then finally he felt like he burst out of his skin if he didn't get inside her, so he pulled away and said, "Stand up."

She slithered off his lap to stand and helped him wrench her completely out of that dress, letting it fall to the floor, then slide her panties down to her ankles. Goddamn she was beautiful, her silhouette a perfect hour glass shape, and Ace's heart pounded heavily in his ears at the sight of her. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt, then opened his fly to get pants down his hips and set that perfect little body back on his lap.

She was dripping wet, and it begged to question just how long it had been since that ex husband of hers even gave it to her good, much less got her off, and she whimpered just as impatiently, rutting that sopping wet cunt against his shaft as she kissed him like her life depended on it. Drove him absolutely crazy with her hands cradling his head and her fingers raking over his scalp. Then she simpered, "Ace," with that breathless voice and he lost his mind.

He grabbed her ass to lift her just slightly so he could line himself up and shove his dick up inside that tight, wet opening with a groan. Then he just stayed there for a moment, deep inside her, catching his breath, wanting so badly just to fuck her hard and furiously fast until he came, but it would be over to quick if he did. But goddamn she felt so good! And this was all his to fuck whenever he wanted, wasn't it? Had his name on it. So why in the hell should he not take advantage of that?

Her hips started to move but he gripped them tightly to still them, saying, "No, no, hold still, baby. Hold still. Just gimme a second." Throbbing inside of her at the feel of those muscles flexing and contracting around his shaft, making it even tighter of a fit. "Goddamn," he sighed.

Just to look at her, this bombshell of a woman, naked in his lap, and feel her skin to skin, made his achohol addled head spin. But finally he nudged her hips, encouraging her to move and fuck him however she liked, which was slow and deep, running her hands up and down his chest, eventually splaying his vest open and pushing up his shirt to touch fiery skin with eager hands. She fucked him so good, kept him just right on that edge of feeling like he was just about to come but not quite there yet.

He started to shake with the effort it took to resist the urge to fuck into it.

But with as good as she felt, he was starting to understand why her husband ever kept her prisoner in the first place.

Hell, the way she felt? Ace just might too. 

Just lock her in the bedroom, and throw away the key.


	21. Chapter 21

Autumn woke the next morning with a pounding headache, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the harsh sunlight pouring in through the window, shining right in her face. She didn't remember much of what happened after the bartender gave her that last drink. Most of the night was a blur. She supposed she deserved such a miserable hangover for being dumb enough to drink so much whiskey in the first place, then mixing so many different kinds of alcohol as the night progressed. But she remembered just enough to not be surprised to find Ace in bed beside her.

He'd fucked her all over his - _their_ \- apartment, the night before. Best she could recall, they started on the couch, but by the end of it, they were both completely naked in the bedroom, so waking up to Ace naked and spooning her, one arm draped over her, should really go without saying. She didn't know how to feel about it though. She'd...well, she'd _fucked_ him. Legitimately slept with Ace. Any other woman would probably be thrilled about waking in the early morning snuggled up to their new husband after a night of bliss, but Autumn on the other hand was dreading the moment Ace's eyes popped open.

If ever there was a time to regret letting herself be auctioned, now was that time.

It wasn't like it was terrible. It was actually pretty good. Autumn had never been able to get off even when she still enjoyed sex with Casey, and the only time she'd ever had an orgasm was when she got herself off while he was at work. But with Ace on the other hand, it came easily, and every second after that first one was wrenched out of her felt like one long, continuous second. Until it actually happened a second time, once they reached the bedroom, and her nerves had been so overly stimulated that a second violent orgasm was inevitable. And Ace? Goddamn! She didn't know how in the hell the man could keep it up for so long at his age, but he did.

From what fragments of memory she had of it, Ace sure did put that ten years of pent up sexual frustration he had to good use. 

But this wasn't a decision they'd made sober, and it wasn't something they did because they loved each other. Ace and Autumn did not get married because they were happy and in love. They let Slater slap a patch on her vest with Ace's name on it so she could reap the benefits of being a Pagan's Property, nothing more. Shit, he didn't even like her that much. Just so happened to like her husband even less, that's all. On what planet would Ace ever truly care about Autumn the way a man ought to care for his wife? She could only imagine Ace would regret sleeping with her when he came to and realized what he'd done.

She knew she couldn't lay in that bed and pretend to be asleep forever, so eventually she shifted, and as soon as she did, felt her sensitive bladder kick in. Suddenly she felt like she had to pee like she'd been holding it for days. Ace's arm tightened around her when she moved, holding her in place, and her heart pounded. For just a moment, she was in her old house again, waking up to Casey, when Ace mumbled, "Where ya goin', baby?" And she froze solid in fear. She didn't dare move a muscle for a solid five seconds, thinking Ace would pin her to the mattress and choke her until she passed out.

For just a moment, hearing that sinister voice of Casey's in her head whispering, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?!"

"A-Ace? P-Please let me up. I gotta pee real bad."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry," he slurred and let her go, rolling over to face away from her and bury his head under his pillow to block out the daylight, groaning. 

Autumn exhaled shakily.

Unsteadily she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around her frame, feeling self conscious in the nude, despite the fact that Ace couldn't even see her, not to mention the fact that they'd already had sex. Still, she felt pretty vulnerable at the moment, so she scrounged for the first thing she saw to throw on, only belatedly remembering all the clothes in the apartment were Ace's, so the white t-shirt she put on was Ace's too. Then she flitted to the bathroom. She thought of anything she could to distract herself and push memories of Casey out of her head. Like wondering if she should move her things from her bunk to the apartment.

Just because she was his Property was no guarantee that Ace would want to live with her, so maybe that might not be a good idea to do without asking first. 

But this was going to be her life now.

In this place, with this man.

Autumn washed her hands and the leftover make-up from her face, then tiptoed back to the bedroom in search of her underwear with such thoughts in mind. She spotted Ace in the same exact position she left him in, his head under the pillow with one arm thrown over it to hold it in place, the other arm hanging partway off his side of the bed. The sheet they'd been under had slid down to his hips, leaving all of his upper body exposed. She stood and stared at the planes of his back for a moment. The Pagan tattoo between his shoulder blades. The skull and crossbones next to it. The Ace of Spades card usually covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Then her eyes drifted lower, and she swallowed a lump forming in her throat.

Autumn was not dumb enough to assume that the scar on his lower back, just left of his spine and right above his pelvic bone, was anything other than a bullet wound.

She could imagine the many reasons for which a Pagan Outlaw might ever find himself being shot at.

... _"It was in the middle of the night, the parking lot was empty, and he bet you wouldn't shoot him, didn't he?"..._

 _"The cops never found the body, and they have no idea who did it."._..

Autumn studied the mass of bare skin stretched over muscle on a wiry frame with a frown. She wouldn't say she felt disgusted with herself for sleeping with Ace, but there was something unsettling about it, something that churned in her gut and made her feel strange for some reason. Maybe it was just that he reminded her too much of Casey at times, and it was hard for her to distinguish the two, like minutes before, feeling like she'd woken up next to Casey when she felt Ace's arm tighten its grip. She couldn't say it was just because she knew Ace had taken a life.

People killed all the time. It meant survival and it was just a part of life. It never bothered her that war veterans with confirmed kills in combat had blood on their hands. It never made her look at her grandfather any different, knowing he'd served in Vietnam. Knowing he'd lined a man up in the sights of his gun and pulled the trigger. It didn't make her love him any less, knowing he'd killed another human being. But he only did what he was ordered to do. What he thought was right. Ace was different. As far as Autumn knew, no one had ever held a gun to the back of Ace's head and forced him to pull the trigger on an innocent man.

He never came right out and said so - no intelligent man would ever admit to something like that, if he intended to get away with it - but it didn't take a genius IQ to surmise that Ace had blood on his hands. But speaking of guns...Autumn glanced away, and just so happened to look down to see both Ace's pistol in its holster and his vest laying discarded on the floor. She doubted he'd do something like that sober. The Ladies had been sure to mention how particular Pagans were about their cut, what they called their membership vests. Autumn also knew better than to think he'd leave his Baretta just laying around either.

He must've been a lot drunker than she initially thought, to leave such important things on the floor. Or too enamoured to care in the heat of the moment. Quietly she bent to carefully retrieve them, but then stood there wondering what to do with them. She figured she could hang up the vest in the closet if there were coat hangers, but tucking the pistol in the top drawer of the dresser might not be a good idea. What if Ace woke up not knowing where his pistol was and got angry with Autumn, thinking she'd hid it from him on purpose? So after hanging up the vest, she set the holstered firearm on the nightstand, facing away from the bed.

Both items were placed out of harm's way, but the gun still in full view of the owner. She gave a small satisfactory nod at herself for a job well done, then slunk away, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind her. Ace's apartment was a complete wreck. Some of their clothes were strewn about, but most of the mess was just Ace. Cigarette butts overflowing in the ashtray, dirty dishes piling up in the sink. She didn't know what else to do with herself, so she started cleaning. Hell, this was her responsibility now anyway, right? No better time to start than now, she reckoned.

She didn't run the vacuum though. Too loud this early in the morning, especially with a raging headache. So she left that for another time, and quietly wiped down the counters and tables, dumping the ashtrays and dusting the shelves. Then stood at the sink in the cramped kitchen, washing dishes before starting a cup of coffee and cooking breakfast for herself and Ace. The Ladies had stopped by a few days ago with a week's worth of groceries for Ace, so she wouldn't have to go downstairs to the bar's kitchen. About the time she started frying some eggs in the cast iron skillet she found, Autumn heard water running in the bathroom. 

Ace was finally up, and after finishing in the bathroom, he wandered into the kitchen barefoot, in nothing but a pair of jeans. Autumn glanced back just long enough to see his towering figure hovering in the doorway, staring at her back, but didn't make eye contact. She couldn't. Not without recalling to mind those snatches of memory of the night before. Of Ace sitting at the counter, laughing at Singer's jokes, mischeivous child-like glee lighting up his face, of Ace sweeping her into his arms and carting her upstairs, of Ace hard and throbbing inside of her, moaning her name as he fucked her. "Mornin'," he mumbled behind her, and she jolted at the sound.

"Mornin'," she managed to reply, scrambling the eggs in the pan while nearby Ace poured himself a cup of coffee.

She snuck a glance at his profile and spotted his frown. She couldn't tell if it was the normal "Just woke up" frown, or the "I regret ever shelling out money for your ass" type of frown, but it was there. But maybe he was just frowning for the same reason she was, because he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Since the eggs were almost done, she moved across the kitchen to set two pieces of bread in the toaster. She flitted back and forth between the stove and toaster for a minute, preparing the food, while Ace sat down at the small kitchenette nearby. The awkward silence between them was deafening.

She piled eggs and buttered toast on two plates for them, figuring a light meal would probably be preferable to a much heavier one, given how much they drank last night, and anything too spicy wouldn't sit well on their stomachs. She set the plates on the table, then listened to the sound of Ace's fork scraping around on his plate while she made her own cup of coffee. Once she sat down across from him, and could no longer keep busy with making breakfast, she figured it was about time they got this over with, and broke the tenuous silence between them.

"So, technically we're married now," she said.

"Yep," he nodded. "I reckon so."

"So should I be movin' my stuff in here then?"

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and furrowed his brow at her, like he thought she'd lost her damned mind or something.

"The hell kinda question is that?"

"I-I just meant that...Well, I mean...You know just 'cause I'm your woman now and your payin' my way, don't mean you're gonna wanna live with me, ya know? I mean we don't really know each other all that well just yet, so...So I figured the polite thing to do is at least _ask_ first, before I just move in here and take over like I own the place."

Ace stared blankly at her for a moment before finally shoving that forkful of eggs in his mouth and chewing. Then he swallowed, shooting a glance to the open bedroom door on the other side of the apartment. "There's room enough in that closet for your stuff, and room enough in this apartment for you and me both. Can't think of any reason you'd sleep in there on one o' them cots otherwise." His eyes found hers again and he stared for a moment longer, then went back to stuffing his face. Autumn sipped her coffee, finding it too hot still, so she set it aside to cool, then laced her fingers in her lap.

"Alright then," she mumbled. Next order of business then. "And I'm supposin' you want the pin number to unlock my phone?"

Ace dropped his fork on the plate this time.

"What?"

"The pin number. It's 0731. That's my birthday. July 31st."

"The fuck are you givin' me the password to your phone for?"

Autumn blinked rapidly for a second in confusion. Shouldn't that be obvious? Oh. Right. Ace had never been married before, had he? "Well, you're my old man now, right? So you're gonna want my password so you can see who I'm callin' and textin' and stuff-"

"Stop. Stop right there. Who told you to give me the password to your phone? Did my sister tell ya to do that shit?"

"Well, no, but I just assumed...I mean, Casey didn't want..."

"Jesus H fuckin' Christ," he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head up at the ceiling, almost like he was praying or something, though she was pretty sure Ace and most of the other Pagans were atheist. Not a one of them did Christianly things. "God fuckin' dammit." Abruptly he slid his chair out and stood up, then shuffled to the living room, hunting for his pack of cigarettes. When he finally found them, he snatched up an ashtray and brought the items back to the table, then slid his half empty plate out of the way so he could prop his elbows on the table and light one up. 

"Alright," he said finally, making eye contact and taking a long drag from his cigarette, squinting just a little when a wisp of smoke got in his eyes. "Ima tell ya how this is gonna go, from here on out: I want you here." He gestured to the apartment. "Ya keep this place clean, and ya keep my ass fed. Don't be fuckin' around on me, and don't be talkin' to the cops about shit you might overhear. Don't be disrespectin' members of the club. You got a problem? You come to me with it. Or Ness. 'Cause I know sometimes a woman's got problems that can't be solved by her old man...'Specially when that problem happens to be _him._..What you do after that, baby, is your own business. Ain't none o' mine."

Autumn stared, taking a second or two to process all that. Then Ace added, "One way or another, I _will_ teach your ass how ta be properly married to somebody."

She sputtered in confusion. "I-I don't understand-"

"Ya ain't gotta understand. Just do all that, an' you an' me'll get along just fine." He flicked the ashes off his cigarette. "I'm old," he admitted tiredly. "And I've done seen too much shit, done learned too many things about the world to tryta be like them boys out there, puffin' themselves up and actin' like they know a damned thing about what it means to be a man. But I ain't got the patience to navigate the nightmare that is marriage either. So I'll keep things simple for ya, and I'll be honest with ya, so that way there ain't no chance of ya ever gettin' the wrong idea about me. I ain't gonna hit ya, aint gonna threaten ya, and I damn sure I ain't ever gonna lie to ya. So just be sure of what you're askin', 'cause you might not like what I have to say about it."

"...Okay," Autumn finally nodded, then nervously pulled her hair over one shoulder. "Is it...is it alright if I make some rules too?"

Ace eyed her suspiciously. "Depends."

"W-Well really it's just the one. Just one thing I wanted to ask of ya, if it ain't too much trouble." Ace wordlessly gestured for her to proceed and she fidgeted uncomfortably. Then she took a deep breath and explained, "H-Her name was Sierra Rose, or...i-it would've been. But...she was stillborn." Ace's demeanor changed entirely for a split second, and while he was still frowning, he shifted a bit, like he was uncomfortable too. "Guess it wouldn't have hurt so much if it had just been a miscarriege? You know because then it would just be this...thing, I guess. If maybe I hadn't seen her face, gave her a name." She started to choke up. "I-I just thought...Look, I'll do anything ya want me to, Ace. Anything. I don't care what I gotta do, just...just don't make me have kids."

Autumn held her breath waiting for his response, fingers crossed under the table.

It felt like eternity.

But finally, he took another drag off his cigarette, and with a dead serious expression, grumbled, "I hate kids."

Autumn exhaled in relief and wiped her eyes. He slowly reached across the table, and she realized he was reaching for her hand. She honestly didn't think he'd be the consoling type, but he didn't look too sure of it himself. Like he'd never tried before, and he wasn't so sure if he'd even be good at it, the way he tentatively reached out, touched her hand and drew it into his, squeezing it. But it helped. Just that affirmation that Ace would never ask that of her worked to uncoil the tension in Autumn's frame. Maybe...maybe living with Ace wouldn't be so bad at all. Maybe it might be kind of good.

Autumn could only hope he felt the same, because nothing about his expression could tell her what he was feeling, other than hungover still.

They were silent for a long time, eyes on the table, but then quietly Ace said, "Trick?"

"Yeah?"

"You on birth control?"

"Not yet. Ness was gonna help me get some. Why?...Oh."

"Shit."

Shit was right.

They didn't use a condom.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some more of Ace being unexpectedly sweet, but maybe needing a little work in the charm department still.

The drug store didn't open until 8 am, so around 7:30 they got dressed, Ace throwing on a clean shirt, brand new socks and shoving his feet into his boots before beginning the search for his bike keys and wallet. Autumn had to head across the hall to the storage room where she'd been sleeping for clean clothes. While she dressed, Ace headed downstairs to inspect the damage done to the bar from last night's party, and to sift some cash from the drawer.

The downstairs was clean for the most part, but there was still an empty space in the corner where the band's equipment had been. Neither Ace nor Autumn bothered wearing their club vests, and for the first time in the last week, Ace kept his pistol at home. Casey Florence was still in the regional jail, as far as Ace knew, and wasn't an immediate problem. At least, not a problem a right hook to the face couldn't take care of.

Autumn followed him out the door, then stood and watched him lock it behind them, then start his bike. She shifted restlessly in her little white tank top and blue jeans, squinting her eyes in the morning sun. When Ace righted the bike and straddled it, she hung off to the side still, hestitant to stride it.

"Hop on," he said, over the idle of the motorcycle.

"I ain't ever been on a bike before," she told him, frowning, staring at it like it might bite her.

Well goddamn.

"Ya ain't ever been on a motorcycle."

"Nope."

"Ever been on a horse?"

"Oh, well, yeah? My uncle's got a ranch. I used to ride all the time."

"Alright. Well it's the same thing, only steel." She glanced at the bike, then back up at him. He adjusted the sunglasses on his face. "And it won't kick ya either, baby. Just get on."

It took her a second, but finally she sighed and walked up to it, placing her hand on his shoulder for leverage and her foot on the peg before swinging her right leg over and straddling the seat. Didn't so much as brush the tailpipe, let alone scuff it. Ace was proud. He had to admit, the sight of Autumn on the back of his bike in the rear view mirror was not an unwelcome one.

Looked like she _belonged_ on it.

It was a sight that would be forever imprinted on him, seared into his memory, just like the sight of her standing in his kitchen, in nothing but his t-shirt, cooking him breakfast. 

He supposed he could've been stricter with her, when she started asking questions, offering the code to her phone like that. Any other man would, and maybe Ace would have too, when he was younger, because any Pagan would tell you they damned sure had the right to know precisely what their woman was up to, and should know at all times what she was doing and who with. He supposed he could've let her think what she wanted about him, but the problem was, she thought he'd be like her ex, and Ace figured she'd been through enough as is.

She didn't need him being controlling on top of it. Hell, most women would prefer to go their own way, do what they wanted, and only come around when they wanted something from their old man, like cash or drugs. He half thought Autumn wouldn't care too much for Ace aside from what he could offer. A roof, money, protection. Wouldn't offer to do much more beyond basic and bare minimum to keep him around. But he stood corrected.

Seemed Autumn planned on being a whole helluva lot better to him than he expected. Fuck, the sex alone, from what he remembered, was worth the ten grand he lost.

And besides, what else did he have to live for?

Couldn't hurt to at least try to make her somewhat happy, if he could.

He kind of felt disgusted with himself for sleeping with her though. He had no idea what he must've been thinking that night, but now that he was sober, he was thinking differently, and now convinced that he never should've touched her in the first place. Wasn't right of him to do. The look she had on her face that morning told him she regretted it too. But the slow, casual bike ride through the country leading into city limits was at least pleasant for the most part.

Autumn liked being on the back of Ace's Vegas. He found he liked it a whole helluva lot too. Because the bike had no backrest for her to lean on, she sat forward instead, with both arms wrapped aorund his middle and rested her chin on his shoulder. Ace was fucked the minute he glanced in the side mirror again and saw that pretty face staring straight ahead, wind tousling her hair, and he realized what the fuck he'd been missing all those years.

This. This right here. A good woman that was worth his time, effort and trust, on the back of his motorcycle, as they cruised along.

Hell, maybe if he'd had something like this, he never would've let him himself get caught, and get thrown back in prison this last time.

But he knew now that he loved her. If it were possible to love a woman aftet just a week of knowing one another, Ace Buchannon was convinced he loved this pretty little girl that was way too good for the likes of him. Especially when that mouth of hers curved just slightly in a little smile, enjoying herself as they coasted down the highway.

He almost didn't want to stop when they got to town. Just wanted to keep her on the back of that bike for a while longer, just to see that ghost of a smile, but they had more important things to do. Things that couldn't wait.

But Autumn's frown was back when they pulled into the shady side of the parking lot in front of the Rite-Aid pharmacy on Main Street. He didn't know if she was worried about what they were doing, or just embarrassed, but he didn't say a word. Just took his sunglasses off and tucked them into the breast pocket of his shirt, pocketing his keys before they headed inside. They looked the pair standing in the isle, waiting for their turn, arms folded, matching scowls on their faces.

Neither one of them wanted to be there. 

To make matters worse, they got stuck in line behind some soccer mom with a gaggle of kids, none of them above the age of five, it appeared.

Ace wasn't lying when he said he hated kids. Because boy did he. Maybe it would be different if they were his own - and so maybe he spent all of five seconds imagining Autumn laying in a hospital bed, holding a newborn with his eyes and her smile, before burying that thought very deep down inside - but that didn't mean he enjoyed for one second the sounds of these three snot nosed brats whining and crying in the isle, screaming, "Mommy, I want this!" "Mommy, gimme that!" Stomping their little feet and whailing when they didn't get what they wanted. 

Oh but did she tell any of them to shut the hell up? No, that she most certainly did not. Just ignored them in favor of typing on her cell phone, French manicured nails tapping incessantly against the screen.

_Tap tap tap!_

_Waah waah waah!_

_Clack clack clack!_

Ace wanted to eat his own liver stuck listening to all that.

It was a good thing he left his gun back at the Black Powder.

Beside him Autumn shifted uncomfortably, irritated by the sight of the children in front of them, and rather by instinct Ace found himself wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer, then kissing the top of her head. For a split second he wondered if that was a bad thing to do, but then he felt her arm come up around his waist. Felt her lean into the touch like she needed it to get through this excruciating wait. Then he watched her groan in exasperation.

"Ya know," she said, loudly, "It's a shame they did away with beatin' little kids when they act like spoiled little heathens, ain't it?"

Ace couldn't help but snort at that. "Ain't really their fault," he commented, eyes boring holes into the back of their mother's head. "Usually it's the parents that need beatin', 'cause it's usually their fault that the kids act like trash. Kids don't really know no better. It's just monkey-see-monkey-do. They're just repeatin' what they're seein'. And if they see their parents actin' like trash, well..."

He gestured to the kids. The woman in front of them huffed and glared over her shoulder at Ace. Neither Ace nor Autumn could give two shits though, and just nodded in greeting, smiling politely at her before the line moved up and the woman ahead of them picked up her prescription in the quickest manner possible. Then she carted her screaming brats elsewhere, to their utmost relief.

Autumn cleared her throat and moved away from Ace so she couod step up to the counter. He watched with his hands in his pockets while she consulted the pharmacist, an elderly woman with a mop of gray hair piled on her head and thick glasses looped around her neck with a chain. Didn't say a word, not even when she mistook Ace to be Autumn's father. Just rolled his eyes.

As it turned out, morning-after pills could be purchased over the counter, regardless of age or circumstance, so Autumn scouted the medicinal isles for the right box, then Ace shelled out the cash for it, and a bottle of water to wash it down with, so Autumn could take it immediately. They flopped down on the wooden park bench some twenty feet away from the entrance outside, and Ace lit up a cigarette while Autumn broke open the box, then dumped the pills in her hand. 

He'd never seen a woman look so relieved as Autumn when she knocked them back with a mouthful of Desani. He frowned, but bit back any sort of malice. Just handed her the cigarette in his hand, staring at cars as they passed by. "Thank you," she mumbled beside him. He nodded once, then accepted the cigarette when she passed it back to him. She was silent for a heartbeat, but then asked, "Ya ain't mad at me, are ya?" He turned in his seat to eye her quizzically. She ducked her chin. "I mean...'cause if I did get pregnant-"

"Don't," he started, quickly cutting her off, looking away. "Hell, don't make no difference to me anyhow. Can't see my ass havin' kids," he lied unflinchingly, for her sake. "So what do I give a damn." They spent the remainder of their time passing the cigarette back and forth between them in silence, until it was gone, then Ace flicked it to the pavement with a huff and said, "So the bar don't open 'til noon. Whatchya wanna do 'til then?"

Autumn blinked up at him, then asked, "Whaddya mean?"

Ace rolled his eyes and made a 'tch' sound under his breath at that. "Jesus," he sighed. "Meanin' we can do whatever ya want. Ain't like I can take ya on some kinda expensive honeymoon or some shit - that ten grand I spent was the last of the money I had saved up, rest of it is the club's money - but we did just get hitched last night, and I don't plan on keepin' ya cooped up in that bar all damned day. I got fifty bucks left outta what I don't reckon Slater would mind me spendin'. So where ya wanna go? We can do whatever ya want."

For a split second Autumn looked like she might short circuit again, spitting and sputtering in confusion much like she did earlier. Like no one had ever asked her what she wanted before, much less let her do it. Like decision making was a foriegn concept and utterly taboo in her mind. She did mention to him before that her ex never even let her out of the house by herself. Ace would have to work on that too, he supposed. Wouldn't do to have an old lady that didn't know how to function without him.

He should probably add getting her driver's license and a working vehicle to the to-do list, on top of getting her G.E.D. Of course, if he gave her a car, how likely was she to leave his ass and high tail it back to Nevada first chance she got? He'd do the right thing and take her himself, if not for the fact that she was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.

Autumn mulled his offer around for a time before ultimately shrugging. "I don't really know what there is to do in this town," she said. "What...what would you suggest? I mean, ya ain't really left the bar all that much since gettin' out, but what did ya used to do before ya got locked up?"

Ace thought about that for a minute.

Aside from gun running, drug dealing, and working as an Enforcer for the club?

It was true that he'd yet to really take the time to see how much had changed around town since he left, much less see if any of his other old haunts were still in business, and he was curious about it. He mentally flipped through the list of locations like a rolodex, trying to think of something Autumn might enjoy. Then it occured to him. "Alright I got it. I know what we're gonna do," he said, standing up and stretching. Then he fished his keys out of his pocket.

Autumn got up and tossed the empty Plan B box in nearest waste bin, then followed him to the bike. 

"Where we goin'?" she asked as he turned the key in the switch.

"Well I just realized that it's been ten fuckin' years since I had any ice cream, so I wanna see if Cindy's Soft Serve is still open."

"They dont let y'all have no dessert in prison?"

"Oh they'll let ya have dessert alright, and they'll _say_ it's ice cream, but that shit ain't no ice cream. To tell ya the truth, I have no idea what fuck it even was."

That actually got her to crack a smile, as she chuckled at him just then.

Goddamn that was a beautiful sight.

"Ice cream, huh?"

"Yes ma'am," he quipped, smirking, as he propped up his Vegas and swung his leg over the saddle. Once settled in the seat, he plucked his glasses from his pocket. "Best damned ice cream in tri-county area, that I recall."

She snorted. "Alright then," she said, then climbed onto the back seat, slipping her arms around him.

She squeezed him tight too, and her head fit perfectly in between his shoulder blades when she lay it against his back.


	23. Chapter 23

If Autumn had to describe being on the back of a motorcycle, she would say it was like flying without wings. Euphoric, the way the wind batted at her hair and the summer sun beat down on her face. Ace took each turn easily enough that she didn't feel like she'd fly off, though it was a little scary whenever they'd speed up to 60 miles per hour on the straight stretches of highway, with no seat belt, no helmet, and nothing to cushion the impact should there be a collision. She didn't know how women like Vanessa, Andrea and the First Lady could do this type of thing.

But she supposed that was part of what it meant to be a rider, or somebody's old lady. To be daring enough to straddle the seat of a motorcycle, knowing the only thing keeping you alive was your old man's experience as a rider. To have that kind of trust in somebody, that you're willing to put your life in their hands, close your eyes, hold on tight, and literally fly by the seat of your pants. Now she understood that euphemism. Maybe this was why Ace joined the Pagans in the first place. 

Because they were just the kind of men that liked to stand on the edge of that precipice, between life and death, and see just how close they could get to the edge of it without falling off.

Maybe in that regard, Autumn truly had earned the denim vest that lay across the back of the couch in Apartment C.

Because that was precisely the way Autumn felt hanging onto Ace atop that Victory Vegas.

Like she'd taken a gamble, and bet on a stranger with her life.

Those were some high stakes.

But it was no gamble she hadn't already made with Casey at the age of sixteen. Foolishly trusting him with her heart at such a tender age, abandoning her life in Nevada on the offchance that a life with Casey could bring her any kind of joy, which proved to be a false hope in the end. But she'd made the mistake of blindly trusting him, with no real _proof_ that he could be trusted. Just the _hope_ that he wouldn't hurt her. She wouldn't make that mistake again. She might put her life in Ace's hands, but never again would she have that kind of blind faith in a man.

She wouldn't trust Ace as far as she could throw him.

He might be kind of sweet in his own way, and he might _say_ he'd never hurt her, but Autumn knew better than to believe it without seeing it. She wouldn't just take him at his word. Not without proof, and she'd already seen how some Pagans treated their women. They never put their hands on them without a damn good reason to, but they weren't above that sort of thing. They weren't overly violent, but Autumn had seen a member give one of the Ladies a sharp slap across the face after she'd cussed him out.

But she wouldn't argue whether or not Amber deserved it, because that wasn't the point.

She'd _seen_ it.

But she had her doubts about Ace. Wondered how he'd truly react if Autumn ever pushed him far enough. Though it wasn't like she contemplated doing that. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't an instigator. Just that she wondered if he'd even care enough to argue with her, or if he'd just tell her to get out rather than deal with her. He acted like he was too old for that kind of thing, like he'd outgrown it, and while Autumn had seen Ace get beligerently mad at Singer, and make threats to various women, she'd never seen him physically hurt one. 

Ace was a different breed of man than what she was used to dealing with. From an older generation. A different time, with a different set of ways. With a completely different outlook on life, and as a Pagan Outlaw, a different set of values entirely. From what she could see so far, Pagans prioritized the good of the club as a whole over any personal issues they had, and what made a woman worthwhile was her ability to respect that about her husband. Not necessarily how she behaved as a woman.

After roughly thirty minutes of riding, they came upon a little ice cream parlor near the county line, with a big sign by the side of the road that read Cindy's Soft Serve, and a neon sign in the window that blinked the word 'Open'. They were in luck. Cindy's was still in business. That just proved how isolated Autumn had been. In the seven years she'd lived there, she never knew this store existed. It had an interior designed much like a restaurant, and also served burgers and fries on top of every flavor of ice cream imaginable.

But there were picnic benches outside, and the building had an open window through which cashiers could take orders, accept money and serve food, if customers didn't feel like going inside. Autumn brushed her hair back in place with her fingers, standing just slightly off to the side, while Ace leaned against the opening and ordered for them. Minutes later, he handed her a small styrofoam cup of strawberry ice cream and a plastic spoon, then took his own serving of vanilla ice cream with him to a picnic bench.

They were the only customers outside at the moment, yet despite that, Ace still picked the bench farthest from the restaurant, closest to the bike, like it was some kind of habit. Maybe he sat there a lot when he was younger. She snorted when he climbed atop the bench and sat on the table part, and put his feet where his rear end was supposed to be. "Ya know, that part's where your ass is supposed to go," she said, pointing to the seat. Ace just nodded once, scooping out a spoonful of ice cream.

"Yeah, that's what they told me in prison too."

Autumn couldn't help but snort just a little at that. She supposed when she really thought about it that if she had to spend ten years behind bars obeying all the rules, it would make her want to break a few when she got out too. What harm was there in a little social rebellion via sitting the wrong way on a picnic bench? Wasn't like the owners said anything about it. Probably didn't even care. Kids probably did it all the time too. So Autumn joined him, plopping down next to him on the table, feet on the bench seat.

They were quiet for a time, eating their ice cream in silence, and Autumn wondered if she should say something to him. Maybe now was a good time to get to know him better, but she couldn't think of what to talk about. Seemed kind of dumb to ask him what he liked to do. She didn't feel comfortable asking him personal questions either. She harbored no delusions about why they got married, wasn't as if they loved each other or anything, so she didn't see where it was any of her business to know Ace's entire life history. She didn't think she needed to anyway.

But she didn't want the man she'd slept with to be a total stranger either. She wanted to know what kind of man she was dealing with. Would it bother him if she asked questions about things that were public record anyway? "So, if ya don't mind me askin', what all crimes have ya ever been arrested for anyway?" she mustered the will to ask, and Ace glanced at her. Ness had already told her about the arms dealing, but she wondered what Ace would have to say for himself. "You ain't gotta tell me," she quickly added. "I was just curious."

Ace stared for a second. He didn't look angry, just slightly perturbed, like he wondered where this curiosity came from. "Why're ya askin'?"

Autumn shrugged. "Well like I said, I'm just curious to know. Figure a wife outta know that sort of thing about her old man."

"Tryna get to know me, are ya?" 

"More like tryna figure you out."

She wouldn't call the sound he made a laugh, more of an errant scoff, but he contemplated that for a moment, like he was trying to remember what crimes he'd committed as there were quite a few, then listed them all for her, in chronological order.

"Well, when I was sixteen, I was busted for illegal carry of a handgun, did two years in juvy for that shit. And then again when I was twenty-one I got busted for concealed carry of an unregistered weapon." He glanced up at the sky, thinking some more. "When I was twenty-eight I did my first stint for small arms dealin'. Did five years, and they released me for time served. Been arrested a couple times on assault charges, but ain't none of 'em ever stuck. Didn't have enough evidence against me. Then this last time I did ten years, again for small arms dealin'. And...well, that's everything I've been accused of."

Autumn soaked it all in, then mumbled, "Assault charges, huh?"

"Yes ma'am," he nodded. "Told ya I weren't gon' lie to ya."

Autumn swallowed. "Were any of the victims women?"

Ace took a moment to respond, but shook his head. "No ma'am."

Autumn nodded at that, accepting his answer. If she had any doubt, she could just pull her phone out of her purse and look up his arrest record online, but she'd take his word for it. Didn't have much of a choice really. She'd already made her bed, so to speak. The silence that hung in the air was entirely too heavy, so she let out a sigh and said, "Small arms dealin' and illegal carry of a firearm, huh?" He nodded again. "So in other words...you _really_ like guns," she surmised.

Ace choked on the spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and coughed.

She glanced over to see him red faced, teary eyed, and starting to chuckle a little. Autumn was surprised she actually managed to make him laugh without a drop of alcohol in him first. But maybe a good hard fucking had been just what he needed to get rid of some of that stiff posterior he'd kept since getting out...or it could've just been the ice cream that tempered his mood. It was really good ice cream.

"I reckon so," he managed to say, and set aside the remainder of his for the time being.

She briefly cracked a smile, then went back to eating her own ice cream, staring off into the distance.

Maybe she could get through this.

Maybe by metaphorically spraypainting over her fear and nervousness with cynicism and anti-humor, she might just survive a life with the Ace of Spades.

Beside her Ace somewhat relaxed the tension in his frame with a sigh, then leaned back to prop himself up on the table with one elbow, also staring at the empty field on the other side of the road, where long limbs of wheat grass grew tall and proud, waving in the breeze. The interior of Cindy's was filled with the muffled sounds of activity, a country song playing on the radio, and every once in a while, the occasional car would pass by on the two lane highway. But otherwise, nothing disturbed the momentary peace between them.

Until Ace spoke again and said, "I'm sorry about last night." Autumn glanced back at him. "Don't really know why I did that."

"Regrettin' it, are ya?" she asked.

He snorted. "I didn't say that," he denied, shaking his head. 

"Then what are you apologizin' for, exactly?"

Ace sucked in a breath through his nose and let it out slow before he snatched up his styrofoam cup and got up to toss it in the overflowing trashcan nearby. When he came back, he was fishing another cigarette from his pack and pulling his Zippo from his pocket. Once it was lit and he slipped his lighter back in his pocket, he said, "I ain't gonna entertain the idea that you actually like me," making Autumn set down her own bowl in favor of nervously brushing her hair over one shoulder, staring at the ground. "And your ass was pretty lit last night."

Autumn was pretty sure she understood what he was getting at once she heard that last part. "Well I didn't exactly say _no_ to gettin' married now did I," she mumbled. "It does say P.O. Ace on that vest."

He said nothing at first, just stared down at her while he puffed on his cigarette. 

But then she heard, "That don't mean I should be takin' advantage of shit...just 'cause it's got my name on it."

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but dont havin' your name on it mean exactly that?" she asked, curious eyes making their way back up to his. "That I belong to ya?"

Another deep breath on his part, paired with a gleam in his eye that told Autumn he was thinking about that previous night.

But then he seemed to shake it off, blinking rapidly for a moment like coming out of a trance.

Finally he huffed, "One o' these days you and I are gonna sit down an' have us a little talk about somethin' called _consent_ ," he stated. Now Autumn rolled her eyes. She hopped up from the table and walked over to the trash can next, to toss the last little bit of ice cream left in the bowl, that had started to liquify in the heat. She'd gotten just a splash of it on her hands, so she swiped a napkin from a dispenser on one of the nearby tables before rejoining Ace. She didn't disagree with him, she just didn't think he'd actually care about any of that.

She could choose to comment on it if she wished, but she didn't think the outdoor picnic area of Cindy's Soft Serve was really the best place to hash it out, so she kept her mouth tightly shut about it and jerked her head in a nod. "A-Apology accepted," she stammered instead, accepting the partially burnt cigarette when Ace handed to her, taking a nervous puff. Ace seemed much like a two-sided coin. So different from one minute to the next that he was starting to give her a complex.

Maybe it would be best to just accept it and move on, and not over think it too much.

They stayed at Cindy's just long enough to finish the cigarette, then Autumn watched Ace stomp it out on the pavement before heading back to the bike. It was real easy to forget the whole conversation once they were on the bike, coasting down the road, the roar of the engine drowning out her thoughts. In spite of everything else, riding with Ace was as natural as breathing. Just like when her Uncle Rick first taught her how to ride a standard back home, and she led Baxter around the closed paddock in a trot all by herself for the first time.

It required a certain level of poise, though maybe she needn't worry so much about position in the saddle as much as consistency around each turn, leaning with Ace just as he leaned to counter balance the weight. She didn't dare read into the fact that having Ace between her thighs, with her arms wrapped around him, felt pretty good too. Familiar, but maybe it was just because they'd been intimate last night, and in Autumn's mind a sense of closeness was inevitable.

But wasn't this what it was all about? That at the end of the day, all that mattered was a stretch of open highway with two lanes, two wheels, a motor and the joy of a good ride? That's what it seemed to be about in all those movies and tv shows about bikers, that while they did what they did for the club, in the end all that mattered was their love for riding.

Did Ace feel that way?

Now that he was older, was he starting to feel like maybe there was more to life than just having a rap sheet? Or did he ever care about his infamy within the club in the first place? The more Autumn learned about Ace, rather than feeling like she understood him, instead the more questions she had about the man. She could hardly care about what happened between them by the time they reached the Black Powder, and instead all she could think about was the answer to the ultimate question in her mind:

Why did Ace become a Pagan in the first place?

Why on earth would a man like him want to be involved with these people? She truly didn't need to know everything there was to know about him, but she just wanted to know that. It was getting close to opening time, so Autumn made a beeline for the supply closet as soon as the door was unlocked, and retrieved the broom, dustpan and cleaning caddy to start turning the Black Powder back into some semblance of a bar, in oppose to the mess it currently was. 

Ace stood at the register, counting the till while she cleaned, then dropped a note inside the drawer, probably explaining why there was money missing. After that he watched her clean, leaning against the counter. "So why'd ya join the club?" she finally asked, as she finished arranging the bar stools, then came to join him behind the counter, holding a cloth and sanitizing solution, meaning to wipe it down.

Ace snorted at her. "Still tryna figure me out, huh?"

"Yeah."

He mulled it over for a minute, then this tiny, devilish smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. 

"Cause I'm a problem child," he answered.

Autumn snorted grossly. "What kinda answer is that?"

Ace slowly stepped around the corner and toward the jukebox, fishing some change from his pocket to feed it some quarters. After a minute or so, Problem Child by AC/DC started playing, and Autumn realized he was making a joke. Problem child he might be, but it still wasn't an answer. "No really why?" she asked him as he joined her at the counter, reaching behind her for the bottle of whiskey he pointed to. When she offered a shot glass next, he nodded and tapped the table, bobbing his head just slightly to the music.

"Well," he quipped, plucking the unlit cigarette from his mouth. "I've only ever been good at three things," He paused to down his shot, then held up a hand to list those three things with his fingers, "Ridin', shootin', and fuckin'." Autumn covered her mouth. Had she been taking a drink of something when he said that, it would've been sprayed all over the counter. "So I thought to myself: why not have a job where I can do all three?"

He gestured to the shot glass, so Autumn poured him a second and watched him drink it.

"Thought ya weren't gonna lie to me," she smarted, and obviously the whiskey hit him just then, because he _grinned_ at her.

"Oh I didn't lie, I am _very_ good at those things."

Autumn rolled her eyes. She meant about why he joined the Pagans. But he assumed...She blushed a little. "Yeah well I'll have to take your word for it with that last one. My memory of last night is still a little hazy."

"Yeah well you do that," he said. He got up from the barstool and stuck his cigarette behind his ear and started to walk away. "Ima head upstairs an' shower. You finish up down here. Who's workin' today?"

Autumn glanced up. "Andrea, I think."

"Alright. If she gets here before I get out, tell her I want her trainin' you on the register tonight."

"You mean I'm gonna work behind the counter?"

He nodded. "Don't be servin' none of 'em drinks unless you're standin' behind it. From now on, if you work downstairs, you work behind the counter, otherwise you stay upstairs." He pointed to the ceiling. "And you wear that vest with my name on it. You don't take that shit off."

He turned away, but Autumn stopped him with, "But why?"

"'Cause you're my goddamned property, that's why."

"No I meant why do you want me behind the counter or upstairs?"

"For the same reason."

"I don't get it."

Ace didn't get mad, just rolled his eyes at her, but turned to amble back over to her.

"'Cause I don't wanna have ta be beatin' other men off ya every night. I ain't tryna land my ass back in prison a third time. At least that way there's three feet o' counter between you and their death sentence. It's either that or just keep you locked up in that apartment all night. Which one would ya rather have?"

Autumn considered that bit of wisdom for a moment, then nodded, seeing the logic in it. Sounded pretty fair actually. 

"Alright then."

Ace nodded, then turned again, but paused halfway and turned back. "Look, there really ain't no sense in askin' a bunch of questions, tryna figure me out. I'll just tell ya all ya need to know about me."

"And that is?"

Autumn hadn't been expecting the physical contact, so she flinched ever so slightly when he reached to toy with a strand of her hair, letting it pass through his fingers. But Ace didn't seem to notice. Just draped her hair over one shoulder like she usually did, as if he liked it like that too. "That I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to ya," he said. His eyes bore into hers with that unbearable intensity that might've been sadistic and creepy coming from anyone else, but seemed to come standard with Ace. "That, I can all but guarantee."

He let his hand drop, adding, "If that's what you were wantin', just someone to look after ya, then ya married the right one."

This time he walked away, and didn't look back. 

Autumn sagged against the counter when she heard the door to the VIP lounge click shut, willing her heart to stop pounding so mercilessly in her chest, but it was too stubborn.

"Dammit, that asshole still didn't answer my question."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should've named this series Men Who Display Their Emotions Through Enigmatic Speeches and the Implementation of Classic Rock Songs Selected on the Jukebox.


	24. Chapter 24

Ace stood in the shower, lightly tapping his forehead against the ceramic tile under the faucet. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. Hands raised above his head as he leaned against the wall, letting the water run down his neck and shoulders.

_So why'd ya join the club?_

He was still thinking about that question, which he really didn't know how to answer without explaining to Autumn just what the fuck he'd been doing at sixteen years of age that would require toting around a 38 Special tucked under his shirt. Not without relaying the circumstances leading up to standing in an abandoned warehouse, holding that gun in his hand and pointing it at the nameless man tied to a chair, gagged and blindfolded, while nearby Slater's uncle, the former President of the club, pointed a gun at the back of Ace's head.

Explaining why he'd been instructed to shoot that man, for no other reason than because Lonny told him to do it, and if he wasn't willing to do it, his own brains would be splattered against the wall. He could still remember that night, standing under that yellow lamp light in that musty smelling place the members brought him to, since they didn't do their joining ritual up on the Hill anymore. He still remembered Lonny standing there, with the rest of the Cabinet, saying, "Now boy, you're gon' kill this man for me, or Ima kill you."

Sixteen year old Eddie Buchannon knew why he had to do it. It was about proving loyalty to the club, and if he wanted to be part of it, he needed to show Lonny and the rest of them he'd be willing to go so far as to take a life for them if he had to, or give his own in exchange. He couldn't very well walk away from this, knowing what he knew about them, if he refused. Eddie had been young, a lot younger than most when he prospected, and even with as much growing up as he'd done after his daddy passed away, he was still just a kid.

Didn't know any better, didn't know what the hell he was getting himself into either, and all he knew was that he'd wanted that life. But the man tied to a chair in front of him was still a human being too, and Eddie didn't want to have to shoot him. He was a lot of things, but wasn't a killer. Though he didn't want to die either. He remembered taking a deep breath, letting it out shaking, and saying, "A-Alright just gimme a second to think about it." Lonny took the barrel away from the back of his head and clicked the hammer back in place.

Eddie stood there for about a minute or so, making up his mind, before finally he decided he just _couldn't_ make up his mind.

He couldn't make that kind of decision.

Who's life was truly more valuable?

His, or this stranger's?

"Fuck it, I'll flip a coin then," he shrugged, and nearby the VP laughed. "Anybody gotta quarter?"

"You really gon' leave that shit up to chance?" Lonny asked him. "Why not just shoot the son of a bitch?"

Because Eddie Buchannon wasn't a killer, and if there was truly no walking away from this, then he might as well let fate decide.

Besides...

"Where's the fun in that?" he said to Lonny, with a nervous chuckle, heart racing in his chest.

They patted down their pockets and nobody had any loose change on them, but Duke, the Pagans' Treasurer, had a deck of playing cards in his pocket. "Alright, how's this sound? I shuffle this deck, and you pick a card. You draw black card outta the deck, you shoot the bastard. You draw a red one? We shoot your ass instead." Eddie's pulse raced in a mix of excitement and adrenaline like he'd never experienced. He didn't know how to describe what he was feeling, other than feeling like he was high.

There was just something about the rush of not knowing if he'd live or die that night, having those fifty-fifty odds of either shooting or being shot, that made him feel like he was flying. It was exciting, and terrifying, and Eddie knew he'd never get a feeling like this ever again, any other way, long as he lived. No drugs would ever make him feel like this moment had. Nearby, Duke shuffled the deck of playing cards, then spread them out in his hands for Eddie to draw one. Slowly he reached into the deck and pulled out a single card.

Coincidently, he flipped it over to see a bold black A and a giant black Spade in the middle of the card, exhaled and fired.

Shot that nameless man at close range, right between his blindfolded eyes.

Therein earning his nickname that night too.

"Nice shootin', Ace," Lonny commended, clapping him on the back. "Welcome to club."

Eddie Buchannon died that night, and in his place, the Ace of Spades had been born.

Spent years chasing that high, that pure rush of adrenaline he'd gotten a taste of at sixteen, that he could only feel when a gun was in his hand and a life was on the line.

Ace could do the kinds of things Eddie never had the stomach for.

Because while Eddie had never been, Ace _was_ a killer, and could bare that stain on his soul.

He snapped out of his haze and back to the present when he vaguely heard the bedroom door open, and shut the water off, wiping his eyes. He patted himself down then wrapped the towel around his waist, and stepped out of the bathroom to see Autumn standing in the bedroom, now wearing her vest and using the mirror above the dresser to apply make-up. Goddamn she was fucking beautiful, and it just wasn't right. Men like him didn't deserve pretty little angels like her.

He walked over to the dresser, grumbling, "Whatchya puttin' that make-up on for? Aint like ya need it." She jolted a little at the sound of his voice, and set down the tube of dark lipstick she'd been applying, sidestepping out of the way so he could open the top drawer and snatch up a clean pair of socks and underwear. "Are ya _tryin_ ' to get my ass thrown back in prison?" he added as he dropped the towel and stepped into his boxers.

Autumn glanced away, and looked anywhere else to avoid looking directly at him naked as the day he was born.

He didn't really understand why, when they'd fucked last night, so it wasn't like she'd never seen him naked before, and Ace couldn't really give a shit about things like modesty anyway. They were married now. What difference did it make? But she turned her head until he had his underwear on, then folded both arms over her chest and watched with a flustered look about her as he threw a pair of jeans on next.

"Thought you wasn't gonna care what I did, long as I ain't fuckin' around on ya," she said, to which he huffed.

"Yeah but I didn't ask you to go downstairs lookin' like that, and you set one foot in that bar lookin' like you do, every man in there is gonna wanna piece of ya."

"I ain't tryna make you jealous or nothin'," she mumbled. "Just tryna make sure the Ladies get tipped good tonight."

Ace reached for his belt, then slid it through his belt loops, then through the chain of his wallet before slipping it into the last one. He tucked his wallet in his back pocket and buckled his belt. All the while studying Autumn with a hint of suspicion. She watched him too, eyes dropping to his torso periodically. "Go in there in the bathroom and wash it off," he said, reaching for a shirt. Autumn gaped at him while he stuck it over his head, then wrenched his arms up through the sleeves.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Ace, why can't I wear make-up?"

"Cause you don't need that shit, goddamn it. Ya look just fine without it. And ya don't need to be worryin' about them other women either. They get paid good enough as is."

"Well then if I don't need it, what difference does it make? Why can't I just go downstairs like this?"

Because she looked incredible, like something out of a fucking magazine, and it was driving Ace up the wall. If he had to see that all night, he'd think about nothing else the whole night, and he was supposed to be running a bar. Not fantasizing about bending his hot little wife over the counter and fucking her brains out. And he didn't marry her just so he could fuck her. He married her to keep other men's hands off her, and he couldn't very keep to that if she ran around the Black Powder all trussed up like a centerfold. But goddamn she was gorgeous.

"Trick, go wash it off," he said it again.

She pursed her lips at him.

"I don't want to."

" _Autumn_."

For a split second her lip trembled, like she was nervous or scared, and only belatedly did Ace realize it was probably because he sounded like her ex husband right now. Menacing, threatening. Controlling. Dictating what she could and couldn't do with her body. All because he _was_ jealous, and he didn't really have any right to be. This was a marriage in name only. Just a means to an end. He never should've fucked her last night, and shouldn't even be thinking about it now. He didn't deserve to have something so good anyway.

Flashing back to the night he held a .38 mere inches from a man's blindfolded face in an abandoned warehouse reminded him of why.

"Goddamn it," he sighed, turning away from her and reaching for his gun that rested on the nightstand. "I ain't gonna stand here and argue with ya all night," he said as he shouldered it, then walked over to the closet, lifting his vest from the hanger. "So I'll make ya deal." He straightened to look down at her. "You wanna dress up like that? Fine then." He stepped closer. "But if you do, you do that shit for _my_ benefit, and no one else's. It's _my_ name on that vest you're wearin'. Ain't no reason to try to be lookin' like that for anyone but me."

He threw his vest on and walked away before she could so much as argue, let alone contradict, and toed into his riding boots before leaving the apartment. He shuffled down the steps and headed into the bar area to see Andrea behind the counter and Otto in the bar stool right across from where she stood, counting the drawer. Otto looked fairly content listening to the music playing. Andrea had her phone hooked up to the stereo, and with it played a selection of hard rock type shit. The current song was something by Avenged Sevenfold.

Not really to Ace's particular tastes, but a set of old vinyl records and beta tapes stored in the basement after his dad died was completely to blame for his taste in classic rock n roll. He'd hide down there as a kid and stretch out on the musty cement floor, listening to his dad's music to get away from his mom's new boyfriend, who would later become her husband and Vanessa's father. Presently, he scowled as he lit up a cigarette, but managed a nod in greeting when both Otto and his woman said hey to him.

He liked them. Otto was a good man, and Andrea was a loyal woman. Hadn't really talked to them much though. Not as much as he thought he should anyway. Andrea started to lift a bottle of whiskey from the shelf for him, but he held up a hand. "Just a beer," he requested, to which she nodded, setting the whiskey aside. She handed him a bottle of Budweiser instead. He'd lay off the whiskey from now on. Hard liquor was what got him to thinking he could take advantage of Autumn, and he didn't plan on doing that again.

Then he turned to Otto, striking up conversation. "Why the fuck do they call you Otto, anyway?" he asked.

Otto sighed at that, and Andrea looked away, covering the grin that spread across her face with her hand. Very reluctantly, Otto explained, "It was supposed to be A-U-T-O, ya know, like automobile? But," He scratched his chin, "Well, the Ladies that sewed my cut didn't see it written down, so they just spelled it how it sounded." Andrea suppressed a snort, but Ace was not so polite and didn't bother covering up his indignant laugh. Otto slumped on his stool in embarrassment.

Not a minute later, Autumn came downstairs to join them.

Ace's face flattened a little when he saw how bare hers was. Not a stitch of make-up on it. She was still just as beautiful as could be, but obviously Autumn had no intentions of trying to look good for him tonight. He supposed there was a silver lining in that. She'd do as he asked, and wouldn't be gussied up and trying to look good for anybody else either, but it still stung. He shouldn't care, and hell, it really shouldn't matter anyway. But that blow to his ego did hurt just a little.

It would've been kind of nice if maybe Autumn was a little sweet on him too.

But she smiled at the trio like nothing was wrong, then flipped her hair over one shoulder as always.

Like nothing had ever happened, and nothing ever would.

Business was a little slow that night, and there were only maybe a handful of people in the bar at any given time. Instead of claiming his usual spot, the booth in the corner, and keeping his hands occupied with a game of solitaire, he sat at the counter for a change, fiddling with his phone while Autumn worked. He hated that damned phone. It wasn't the old disposable one he used to carry. It was a touch screen and it took him fucking forever to navigate all the applications on it.

But he sat and read news articles on it, looking up different topics, in between the occasional snippet of conversation he might get dragged into. He watched Autumn learn the ropes behind the counter. She picked up on things fairly quick. Not once did a man roll in that night looking to cause trouble, and nobody hit on her either, to Ace's relief. It was a nice slow, easy night. And after the bar closed, Andrea and Otto left, and it was just the two of them again, it was blissfully quiet too.

Ace had let Andrea off early, so he personally counted up the drawer while Autumn cleaned tables, tossing empty beer bottles in a trash can. He didn't know why he couldn't just drag her upstairs and have his way with her, why he couldn't bring himself to just take what was rightfully his. Why he had to feel guilty about it. But he'd hit a peak of self awareness somewhere in his mid twenties, and figured out years ago that he was just terminally indecisive. It was why he liked to leave things up to chance sometimes, rather than take matters in his own hands.

Once the drawer was counted, and the money was zipped into a deposit bag, he counted up the Ladies' tips next, divided the money equally - minus ten percent for the club - and put it in seperate envelopes, each one marked with a name, then locked everything in the safe in the office. When he came back out, Autumn had finished with the tables and wiped the counter down next. He stopped and stared for a minute before walking past her and heading over to the jukebox.

He had a song stuck in his head, so he fished some change out of his pocket and fed it into the machine.

He lit a cigarette, then closed his eyes and breathed as the lyrics to Bob Seger's Still The Same started playing.

_You always won everytime you placed a bet_   
_You're still damn good_   
_No one's gotten to you yet_   
_Everytime they were sure they had you caught_   
_You were quicker than they thought_   
_You'd just turn your back and walk..._

He mouthed along with the lyrics, slowly making his way back to the counter.

_You always said_   
_The cards would never do you wrong_   
_The trick you said_   
_Was never play the game too long_   
_A gambler's share_   
_The only risk that you would take_   
_The only loss you could forsake_   
_The only bluff you couldn't fake..._

Very quietly he could hear Autumn behind the counter singing along with it. Looked like somebody was a Bog Seger fan. Or maybe she'd just heard that song before, maybe on the radio or something, and knew the lyrics to it. 

_And you're still the same_   
_I caught up with you yesterday_   
_Moving game to game_   
_No one standing in your way_   
_Turning on the charm_   
_Long enough to get you by_   
_You're still the same_   
_You still aim high..._

He sat down at the counter, saying, "You are far too young for Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band," With a devilish smirk on his face. Autumn matched his expression, pausing in her work to lean over the counter across from him, resting her elbows on it. Oh hell. The way she leaned over like that put her tits in full view, and he was now level with them, smashed together in her push-up bra, under that tight little tank top she'd been wearing all day long. Even mostly sober she was still driving him crazy.

Playfully she snatched the cigarette from between his index and middle finger and took a drag from it. Then she said, "Nobody is too young or too old for Bob Seger. His music is timeless." She held out the cigarette to him, still smiling.

Goddammit.

This girl had everything he'd been needing.

Everything he wanted.

Ace couldn't help himself, he reached to pluck his deck of playing cards from the pocket of his vest, then took them out of the box and set them on the counter between them. Autumn glanced down at them. She looked a little nonplussed for a second, as if she hadn't expected him to do that. "Wontchya shuffle that deck, baby. I wanna see if my ass is gettin' laid tonight." She shot him a mildly amused look, like she found it funny that he'd still gamble for it, even after he'd already put his name on it.

But finally with a sigh she snatched up the cards and shuffled them twice before setting the deck back down.

Ace removed the top half of the deck and picked up a card.

He groaned when he saw a 2 of Diamonds.

"Better luck next time I guess," he said as he collected the cards. "Looks like I'm in the doghouse tonight."

"You're crazy," Autumn muttered, picking up the rag she'd held, aiming to finish wiping down the counter. "We're married now, Ace. You don't have to keep playin' me for it. Why keep leavin' it all up to chance like that?"

Ace flicked the ashes off his cigarette and shrugged.

In his mind, flashing back to that night in the warehouse, when spindly little Eddie James Buchannon held a .38 with a shaking hand.

Then he smiled up at her.

"Where's the fun in that?" he quipped.

_There you stood_   
_Everybody watched you play_   
_I just turned and walked away_   
_I had nothing left to say_   
_'Cause you're still the same_   
_You're still the same_   
_Moving game to game_   
_Some things never change_   
_You're still the same..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no face claims for Otto and Andrea, though they're reoccurring characters. Anybody got suggestions they could make?


End file.
